Why Me?
by Rui
Summary: sequel to Lucky Me:: Kerry's misadventures continues in a world where everything has changed...Scott is with Emma, 90% of the mutants are depowered and they now live in San Fran!
1. From the Ashes

Why Me?

Chapter 001

* * *

"Oooph!" The guard slammed the gate shut after throwing me back into the cage.

I hit the floor and hissed in pain as my bruised and scratched up palms were once again introduced to the cement and hay of my lovely accommodations. I winced and tucked my legs under me, cradling my hands protectively. You'd think after so many times, it wouldn't hurt anymore; but, with my power nullified, it did.

"Don't worry, saint, you will be part of the greater good."

You would be part of the smear on the floor if I had any strength to speak of, jerk.

The crazy guard guy bowed and walked away.

My cage was the only one lined with hay, fresh every other-- well, I didn't really know how often, because I couldn't see sunlight so I never knew what time it was or how much time had passed. I could see at least twenty other cages like mine, that other prisoners were in from time to time, but I had outlasted them all.

For some reason, I was a "protected" saint.

Maybe I was being saved for a special occasion or something.

So what did I do? I clenched my jaw and turned my back to the wall. I was always watching and waiting for one mistake to let me outta this hell hole.

I didn't know where I was, but I _did_ know how I got here.

I was on a mission with my team. A complex was falling in on itself and I had to check for survivors while the rest of my team stayed outside under my orders. I ignored all the warning bells that might have been going off in my brain.

When I got to the control room at the end of the only long, long hallway, I did find some people. There were two: a guy who looked like a mountain in tights and a woman who had been haunting me since I was supposedly brought back from having tea with Death (I flat lined but they were able to resuscitate me somehow).

Before I could have tapped my intercom to call for help, mountain man's fist slammed the side of my head, knocking me out cold.

Yes, this is Kookie Summers, formerly known as Kerry Michelle D'mon.

I wondered if this is what a dog felt like in the pound, watching as other dogs came and went, waiting for the next one to be picked out of the crowd and walked through the back door-- never to be seen again.

My eyelids were getting heavy.

Damnit. They drugged me again.

Must be something in the water (At least I hoped it was water...) since I tried not to eat their food due to certain reasons.

They didn't have the power to stop our mutant gifts but they could suppress them and keep us so drugged we couldn't focus on them.

I hated this. I hated this place.

I just-- I just wanted-- to go home…

* * *

_"Fifty-two bottles of beer…"_

**CLANG CLANG CLANG**

"Stop singing!"

_"…bottles of beer on the wall…"_

What a way to wake up; one guy singing and another one shouting at him to stop while banging on the cage bars (Nooo, that's not annoying at aaaall!) and the rest of the people trying to ignore the two.

"Saints, be still," one of the guards urged, bowing low to both the cages.

The shouting guy stopped for a while to look at the guard. "If we're saints, then why'n hell are we locked up like convicts?!"

"All saints must first go through trial and tribulation, as well as the cleansing and purification, before they can raise us to our former glory."

_Yeah, yeah, yeah, pull the other leg guard guy; I don't want to walk around with a limp._

If I could walk around.

The singing guy started up again and the shouting one growled at him as the guard continued to attempt the impossible task of making both be quiet.

Draping an arm over my eyes, I sighed. This would keep going until one of them was collected to go through the "back door" or went hoarse.

**BAM BAM BAM!**

My eyes shot open and I swore my skeleton had just hit the emergency eject from my skin and was running down the hallway. I looked around wildly, searching for the cause of the abrupt noise.

"What is goin' on?" someone whispered to no one in particular.

There was a lull of silence, and then a low rumble from above us. Loose dust and junk fell from the floor that was also our roof.

Argh! My eyes burned from the dust that landed in them. I hacked as the dust that didn't stick to my eyeballs choked my lungs. Great, just great.

Blinking, I could only just make out the blurry figures as they started to group around the cages silently. There was a distinct scent that made my stomach turn. Apparently someone got scared enough to mess their pants.

We just had our chemical baths. It was part of the "cleansing" process.

Oh, just perfect. We wouldn't get hosed down for at least another two to three days! Ugh.

The ones that I called guards wore all black and I thought they were given sashes of different colors to mark their rank; but, whatever to that! What was important was they were gathering in the holding area, and the rumbling and booming from upstairs led me to think one thing: they were being attacked.

Squinting through the darkness, I could see the other dirty faces frantically searching for the cause of the noise and commotion. Most of the time when the guards got this jumpy and hyper it was during one of the "ceremonies," when they were parading around the sacrifice of the evening.

"_Fortune_ has spoken that this is the day of the beginning of our rebirth!"

_Fortune_ wasn't that fate like thing. _Fortune_, I had found, was their wacked-in-the-head "high priestess" that decided who would be on the menu during the ceremonies.

"They are all over! The coming is here!" one female shouted, waving her gun around enthusiastically.

_Ohhhhkay_, that never happened before.

**Boom.**

**BOOM!**

Whatever or whoever was up there wasn't a happy or silent thing.

"We must defend the saints; without them, the coming will never be."

The _coming_ would turn into the _going_? Heh, wasn't _that_ funny in a not-funny-to-me way?

A few minutes went by before one of the other prisoners, or "saints," looked toward me and asked, "What is '_the coming_?'"

I shrugged.

It was weird that I had survived this long to become the longest held "guest" here. The other prisoners would ask me questions from time to time, so I told them what I had guessed at while being here and what the guards would say to me.

They called us "saints" because we were mutants. They _used_ to be mutants. Apparently something happened a few months ago, a while after I was kidnapped, and the majority of the mutants, like close to ninety percent I think is what I heard, in the world lost their powers.

Some were happy, some were sad, and some turned into complete psycho-kidnapper cannibals.

Just take a wild guess as to which ones I had the pleasure of keeping as landlords.

Go on and _guess_.

Yep. The cannibals.

I learned this: when people disappear, you don't eat the meat of the next meal.

And then-- it became quiet.

Too quiet.

Quiet didn't happen here. There was always some noise going on somewhere.

"I don't like this! I don'tlikeitIdon'tlikeit—" One of newer people mumbled, rocking back and forth on his knees and shaking his head.

After seeing this so many times, I wondered if I was as crazy as them or crazier for not being exactly like them.

"What's that--?"

_**KA-BOOM!** _

The entire room shook!

That couldn't have been a good thing!

I heard something groan and then several snapping sounds.

Through the dust and my watery eyes, I could tell one thing: snapping, groaning and booms couldn't be--!

"Aw, crap," was the only thing I mouthed out as the ceiling caved in above me, smashed into my cage, and slammed me into blackness.

* * *

I kept my eyes shut.

From the stench wafting oh so pleasantly in the air, I could tell one thing-- I was still in the hell hole.

Something in my gut (I know I sound like Mr. Logan, get over it!) made my 'fear' hit the caved in ceiling.

Cracking one eye open, I winced and squished it shut. Muttering under my breath, I used a part of my tattered white shirt to wipe away the crud from my eyes. They gave the girls long shirts and guys pants, but some of the guys I wish they woulda given shirts to as well. The gruel was hard enough to eat without liver spotted, overly hairy beer bellies watching you!

I opened my eyes slowly. My vision was still blurred, but a few blinks cleared it and I saw the damage done to my cage.

Those stinging, probably blood shot eyes flew open to the point it hurt. After-- after all this time--

I scrambled into a hunched position. The quick movement caused my head to swim for a bit, and after that was done I started creeping toward my salvation. When the beams crashed into my cage's top, it pretty much squashed the entire corner, leaving a good sized gap that I could hopefully fit through.

The thought of me being too fat to fit through the hole made me give a dead laugh. My weight was next to nothing. Even without a mirror I knew that I had lost a lot of weight since I'd been here.

Figuratively crossing my fingers, I grabbed onto a bar on each side of the opening and as slowly and quietly as I could, I managed to wiggle my way from the cage.

My landing was me hitting the concrete, tasting blood and having the left side of my face scratched up, but who cared!

I was free!

Okay, so technically I was only out of my cage but that is a lot closer to freedom than I had been a few moments ago!

Whatever caused the beams to fall had moved away, judging by the sound.

My mind was at war as I stood up straight, my muscles aching from not being able to do this for so long.

It was a momentary joy as I heard a deep groan.

What about the others here?

They were, for the most part, either passed out or-- well, they were out of pain I guess you could say.

On one hand, I could possibly help the other prisoners out of their cages and then we could head the exit, wherever that might be, and escape. However, they might be too hurt or too weak and need to be carried.

Wouldn't it be easier for one person to sneak out than a whole group? If I got out, I could find Mom and Dad and the X-men could save these people.

_I'm so sorry_, I thought, turning to the door on the left end the room, since it was the one heading away from the noise.

There were no codes, no cards, no anything needed to get through the doors, though a friggin' map woulda come in handy!

I turned corner after corner, realizing that either this place was a lot larger than I ever thought or I was going around in circles.

Or both.

That would majorly suck if it was both.

All the walls were exactly the same! Just sheets of metal bolted together! There were a few different doors, some that didn't move and others that opened into just empty closets.

What the heck were the closets for? When they had dinner parties? Sheesh.

Just when I was about to start tearing off pieces of my "dress" to leave like breadcrumbs, I saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

No, literally, I saw a blue light at the end of the hallway coming from an open door.

_**BLAM BLAM BLAM!!**_

I whipped my head around. My pounding heart screamed like a school girl and would have car-jacked the nearest SUV and left me there to die, but instead it gave my brain a vicious shake of reality.

Were they getting closer?

So many turns and no way to mark which way I was going or had already gone!

My mind was racing around screaming like it was being used as a hood ornament at NASCAR-- that was also on fire.

Then a thought I didn't even know was _in_ my head surfaced and sent an ice storm down my spine.

Scott once told me that some people would rather destroy their resources than let them fall into enemy hands.

That meant that there was a possibility that the others I left behind--

I needed to get outta here!

Duh, okay, so I got my feet to shuffle quicker, leaning on the wall for support. I couldn't exactly move like I used to do. Walking around was a taxing effort and I would love to take a nap, but in the middle of Psycho Cannibal University's hall? That wouldn't be the smartest thing I ever did.

I made it to where the light was coming from and I felt my skin crawl in disgust. And let me tell you, after living here for as long as I did with no bathrooms, showers, or toothbrushes, it takes a lot to make my skin crawl.

The room was filled with crates, how cliché, and the light was barely useable. The room was buzzing and it smelled _horrid_.

My stomach lurched but honestly, it should be accustomed to stenches.

The light was only bright enough to attract attention. I squinted to see what was in the room that I could use to get outta here. You know, for any type of flashlight, gun, or any other tool I could use in case I needed to perform some random act of violence on the back of someone's head.

I swear I only looked away for a split second!

I heard another deep groan and it took the other half of that second from before to realize that one, I was in _pain_ and two, the groaning was my _own_.

Someone had _punched_ me and slammed me into the wall.

I slid down the wall into a groaning, blinded lump of bones.

There were stars bursting, reforming, and bursting again before my eyes so rapidly that I couldn't even see the floor.

The next thing that I felt was a steel-like vice around my neck, dragging me _back_ up the wall and slamming me there once before I heard a deep, angry voice.

"_Who are you?_"

Yeah, well, buddy, if you would like an answer, _choking_ _me_ isn't exactly the smartest way to go about it!

"Ugk---!" I answered, my hands wrapping around the wrist (I think it was a wrist.) trying to get this monster to release me.

The good news was that the stars were disappearing; the bad news was that it was just turning into an inky black night in my eyes.

"Put her down, _now_," another deep and mean sounding voice barked.

And _plop_, back down I went, wrapping my hands around my throat, gulping down as much air as I could.

They started to grumble words at each other, totally ignoring me and my choking, gagging, and gasping.

I could tell they were real humanitarians.

If I wasn't so tired and too afraid that rolling my eyes would cause them to roll back in my head, I _so_ would have rolled my eyes.

When the darkness finally faded away, I had full intentions of biting them to make my point but when I saw black boots-- well, I thought better of it. They looked tough and my teeth were weak and damaged enough that I didn't need to make it look like I was in a bubba-bar-fight by losing my teeth.

My eyes went from their boots to their faces. I was blinded by the florescent light behind them but soon I could make out their---

I swear I must have looked like a Japanese cartoon character with as large as my eyes got.

It was Mr. Logan! There was no mistaking his mask! Even if it was black and silver instead of blue and yellow, he had a signature mask and the way he was talking! It was him!

The other guy had metal wings and blue skin. I would have _sworn_ that it was Mr. Warren but he wasn't exactly the way I remembered him.

"A-ah--" Crap. Just when I finally had something to say my voice gave out!

"What about the girl?"

Yes! Pay attention to me!

"Leave her for the authorities." A very, very tall, buff guy suggested in a humorless tone.

No no no! Don't leave me to the authorities!

Well, heck. Leave me to the authorities, I'll just end up on your doorstep anyway.

"No," Mr. Logan stated, "we bring her. She might have information about the sick bastards that lived here."

Yes yes! I know stuff! I do!

If not, I'd make it up and even put enough effort into it to make it believable!

"Fine," the big, tall guy huffed and leaned down to, I thought, help me up, but instead threw me over his shoulder like a leather jacket and asked if they were leaving now.

Well if I had dignity left to speak of, it was thrown down on the floor like a snotty Kleenex.

* * *

Huddled up in a seat on the plane, legs up to my chest and my eyes steadily on the glowing red ones around me (I hope they were just part of their masks and not their real eyes), I felt like a lab rat ready to be dissected if I moved a muscle.

Everything was calm now, but after the one they called "Warpath" draped me like a scarf over his shoulder, it got weird.

First, this creepy, dark haired girl came running down the hall, slicing and dicing with _metal claws_ and growling like a bear. She was like a Wolverine in a _bra_.

Warpath-guy was also twirling and punching through walls at such a dizzy, stomach turning speed, I was grateful to have an empty stomach or he would have my meal down his back.

Mr. Logan was piloting the jet, but Mr. Warren, Warpath, and the dark and creepy girl were all taking turns at examining me.

They'd given me a bottle of water and I downed it in less than half a minute, but then ended up throwing it up again. My body must have freaked out, not knowing what to do with uncontaminated water.

What were they expecting? That I had swallowed a bomb and was going to explode at any given second?

Actually, thinking that over, I wouldn't put it past those crazy SOBs to do something like that to me.

But _honestly,_ if they were waiting for me to try something sneaky, then they were going to be very disappointed.

Back to the escape: I saw Mr. Logan and the dark haired girl pop their claws and slash through some of the guards and Mr. Warren had spiffy new wings that were metal and could _shoot_ his feathers off and they were like _knives_.

And they were giving _me_ the suspicious eye!?

I was unhealthily _skinny_, had no muscle mass to speak of, and was totally bald. Not only bald, but I had no hair whatsoever on my face. Picture that. I had no hair, no eyebrows ---heck, not even that mustache girls get and either bleach or wax (and totally deny they even _have_).

They shaved our heads to prevent lice and infestations of other bugs in our five-star suites. (That's a joke, ha-ha.)

With no eyebrows, I always had this look of perpetual shock.

"Do you have a name?" Mr. Warren asked, now a typical white guy with kid-friendly, white, feathery wings.

Oh, and Mr. Warren who had the blue skin and metal wings somehow just _transformed_ back into a regular looking white guy—well, a regular looking white guy with _wings,_ but that is beside the point. I just stared at him; slack jawed as he calmly buckled himself in before the jet took off.

Who was he trying to be, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?

"Kehhh," was all I could manage.

"Kooo..." Great, now I sounded like a great big, bald baby.

I glowered and started to suck on my water bottle again.

"Kakoo?" Mr. Warren questioned, his eyebrows drawn together.

I slammed my palm into my forehead and shook my head "no."

Then I had an idea, gesturing with my hand as if I was writing something on the other, I got the point across that I wanted a piece of paper and a pen.

Mr. Warren scrounged around the plane for a few minutes and came back. "None of the pens work."

Figured my luck would hold steady.

I tucked my face into my knees and sighed.

* * *

I thought we were heading to the mansion. I _thought _that I would get cleaned up and write down who I was, and there would be wide open arms and tears welcoming back. I _thought_ I would have a room, my old stuff, and that dumb cat, Lucy, to greet me.

My thinking was _way_ off.

When I got off the jet, escorted by the _really_ tall guy, Warpath, and the creepy girl with claws, (they might not have meant to walk one in front and one behind me, but it made me feel like a class-A criminal) into a huge house.

I was already in disbelief about really being saved, but where the heck was I _now_?!

Mr. Logan said he was going back to San Francisco and took off in the jet while Mr. Warren said he had business to attend to in the city and _whoosh_ he was gone they totally abandoned me with these strangers.

Why was Mr. Logan going to California? Why not New York? I guess that would just be another one of those questions I needed to get answered when I got my voice back in working condition.

I missed so much of life.

I shook my head, trying to clear the gathering clouds that held my gloomy thoughts.

So I was in a place I didn't know and didn't know where it _was _with people who I didn't know and who didn't know me.

Gee, except for the cage and chemical baths, I went from the frying pan into the low burning fire.

"I'll get Josh, you find Rahne," Warpath instructed creepy girl. She grunted, yet another Wolverine-like feature that made a chill run through me.

"Sit here and don't move," the big guy told me, and I promptly found a spot on the floor. I dropped like penny in a fountain, without question or hesitation. He looked around, then reached to his face and peeled off his mask before adding, somewhat awkwardly, "I meant on the couch."

I looked behind me, and sure enough, there was a variety of civilized places to sit. When I turned my head back to the guy, he was gone. I blinked in confusion. Sheesh, he was fast!

This place smelled clean and, because of the furniture, like leather. So different than where I was only a few hours ago.

This was so different… The reality must have started to edge into my brain as I felt my thoughts start to spin like a cyclone.

I hunched over, my forehead on the wood floor, trying to stop from hyperventilating. I don't know how long passed, but it was the sound of footsteps that shook me out of my "zoning."

Jerking my head up, I stared at the doorway that the big guy had gone through and waited for the person walking this way to appear.

My eyes almost bugged out of my head when I saw this—this—living Oscar award walk through the door.

"Hi." He started kneeling down in front of me. "I'm Elixir. I'm just here to help you." This "Elixir" guy was completely _gold_. It was strange, so strange in fact, I didn't see him reach out for me until I felt his hand on my face.

_Both_ of us got scared when I suddenly kicked back and away from him.

It was an impulsive reaction.

For so many—months, I guess, touch never led to a good thing.

"Do I need to—" Warpath asked. My eyes darted to the sound of his voice where he was leaning against the door frame.

"No!" Elixir jumped in then turned to the guy. "She's just scared. It's perfectly natural after being in a place like you described to me."

When he turned back to me, he gave me a reassuring, hopeful smile. "I'm Josh. My codename is Elixir. I'm with the X-Men. I'm not here to hurt you, I'm a healer." I just kept staring, waiting for him to leap forward and attack me or something.

He didn't.

He waited patiently for me to respond to him.

"She can't really talk," Warpath finally piped up. "We think her name is Kakoo."

I forgot the extreme apprehension for a second to roll my eyes.

The edge of Josh's mouth twitched upward at my display of minor irritation. He ran one of his hands through his; you guessed it, golden hair and then put his chin in the palm of his hand. I felt like a geometry problem he was trying to figure out, the way he was studying me. "Do you know how to write?" he finally questioned.

I nodded slowly.

"Then wait right there while I get a pen and paper."

What else _could_ I do? Strap on a cape and start jumping around the room declaring I was Batgirl or something?

He rocked up to his feet and went into the adjoining kitchen area, where he began rummaging around noisily.

I glanced back at the Warpath guy, and he was staring at me _hard_. He was out of his uniform and now in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Ah, jeans, I remembered you _so_ well--and t-shirts! I didn't know how much I loved you until I didn't have you anymore.

And let me not go into detail about the bra and panties department for the past months.

Let's just say that they _didn't _run a laundromat at that hell hole I just got away from.

"Here we go!" Josh proclaimed happily, dropping a pen and notebook down in front of me.

I stared at it blankly for a moment before collecting the items in my hands and with great effort (after spending so long without writing, you forget how to start) scribbled out my name. I then turned it around and held it up for them to decipher.

"Kookie?"

I nodded.

"Strange name," Warpath added.

Oh and Kakoo was just _so_ normal.

"Leave th' poor girl alone, Jimmy," a female, accented voice cut in. "I think she's been through enough."

A short girl with closely shaven red hair came into the room, the dark and creepy girl following her.

"I'm Rahne," she introduced herself, kneeling down in front of me, much like Josh was again. She gave me a warm smile. "I'm here to help."

My non-existent eyebrow would have gone up in question but I decided, instead, to write down one more word. I finished it with a huge question mark, rethought it and added another word.

I handed her the notebook and she read what I wrote quietly before her polite smile turned into an amused one.

"Sure, come with me." She rose to her feet and offered me her hand. With great apprehension, I grabbed it and let her haul me to my feet. "We'll be back."

She led me from the room and from the confused faces.

As for the note, it had simply read: Shower? Please.

* * *

Rahne tried to get me into the shower, but the sound of the spray hissing from the showerhead had my breath short and my heart screaming. It sounded too much like the chemical baths they gave us. They would use a fire hose and jet us down like cattle.

She quickly prepped a tub so huge I think it might be an indoor pool, and I sat soaking like an egg. (If _I_ make the hairless jokes it's okay, so far.)

She said to stay in there as long as I needed; it was going to take about an hour to get to town and back with clothes for me.

As I sat there, soapy and happy, I couldn't care _less_ how long she took.

Admittedly, it was a _big_ surprise when I finally saw myself in the mirror. I hadn't seen my reflection since I entered that evil place and now I knew why no one I knew, knew me.

I was beyond pasty. I would make a vampire look like he had a _sunburn,_ I was so white. My face wasn't recognizable since my cheeks sunk in, as did my eyes. There were dark circles around my eyes, causing them to appear even _more_ sunken. My teeth, as gross as it will sound, were in really bad shape. They were yellow, like dirty school bus yellow.

I was glad Rahne told me I would be given something to eat afterward, because right now—uck. I would have tossed my cookies if I saw me on a full stomach.

At least Chris, my old teammate, could no longer tease me about being "fat." I felt a smile creep across my face thinking about him because it led to thoughts about _others_.

My whole team, where were they now? Were they okay? Had they looked for me? How would they react when they saw me again?

Sighing under the water, the bubbles popped under my nose.

My mind twirled its dancing cane and went strolling down the memory boardwalk. I don't have a lane, that would be too typical and boring.

Bobby.

My heart flip-flopped in my chest just thinking about him. I've thought about him so much in the time I was away. No matter how horrible things had gotten, I would remember some stupid thing he said or did to make me smile and I could feel myself still smile at it.

Even though it seemed like a never ending awkward dance around each other, I had fallen for him. It was hard enough for us to be together because we had to keep it a secret from everyone around us. He was, back then, my math teacher at Salem Center Private School, and I was ten years younger than him.

Little did we know that the one we thought we were hiding it from the _best_, knew and didn't care. Dad found us in bed together (_not like that!!_) and laughed it off. His only concern was a lecture from his wife about how we _shouldn't_ be together.

Just as I was in the utopia of memories, one memory came crashing down into the middle of town, burning through everything else. It was the one memory that stuck in my thoughts like a melody to a song that you didn't like but kept humming.

_"We will have to continue this later, Robert." I hissed after he made a rather snide comment about being Chris' on-call girl. _

_"I'm not sure I want to!"_

_Okay, that was a stab, it made me blink in shock, but I still continued. "Only because you are incapable of holding a mature conversation more than once a week!"_

_"We all can't have rods rammed up our as---"_

_"I have to go!" I cut in. My eyes were all ready to get lined with tears. I didn't want him to stop and feel sorry only because I started to cry, so I bit my lip and turned to leave._

_"Make sure you don't come back this way for a while," he snapped._

_I twirled around to face him. "You probably wish I really was dead!" I screamed, hurt and lashing out to make him hurt just as bad._

_"You'd be a lot easier to live with!" he screamed back._

I huffed and the resulting explosion of bubbles under my nose made me sneeze as bits of water went up it.

"Are ye okay?" came a shout from the hallway.

For a second, I forgot about my lack of vocal ability and tried to answer, but nothing but a squeak came out. Sighing, I finally climbed out of my soapy heaven, wrapped the towel she left me around my body and opened the door that led to the bedroom attached to the bathroom.

I stood in the doorway for a moment as an extreme wave of tiredness crashed over me. All the excitement of the day decided that now was the perfect time to wear me down into a yawning, bleary-eyed, swaying female.

"Do ye wanna eat or sleep?"

Both sounded _wonderful_ but the bed was closer and as I came up to it, I fell face first into the mattress, pulled my legs up to my chest and before Rahne finished covering me with the blanket, I was out cold.

* * *

"Waaa!" and then _thunk_ were the first two things I heard. When my senses came back to me, I found myself head first, upside down on the floor with one leg still on the bed while my eyes searched desperately for something.

I flipped myself over and huddled in the nearest corner. My sleepy mind was trying in vain to latch onto some memory of where I was instead of the overpowering nightmare that had made me kick off the bed.

Back and forth I searched the darkened room realizing I didn't have a clue about this place.

My breathing started to pick up to the point that my chest was heaving and my vision was starting to spot with black spaces.

If I wasn't already panicked enough, the door flew open and in rushed a girl with short, red hair. I didn't know her!

Was she going to eat me? Was I finally chosen to be the sacrifice?!

I whimpered and covered myself with my arms, tears coming to my eyes. I didn't want to die like this!

"Calm down, girl." A thick accent, but it was a soft tone.

Peeking through my arms, I saw the short-haired girl leaning down to my level, concern clear on her face.

I guess they didn't want their meals to die of heart failure-- might be bad luck or something.

There was a faint recognition in my mind, but the horror that it could be that I recognized her for being evil had my heart clammed up deep in fear.

"Kookie," she tried and my mind was starting to battle back the fog of panic and confusion. "I won't hurt ye. I'm Rahne, remember?"

_Calm down_, I told myself. She wasn't moving; she wasn't coming any closer or sharpening a knife to cut me into Kookie bits to serve at a cannibal birthday party.

_It's okay_. Slowly, I started to uncoil from my fetal position into one where I was just sitting, shivering and uncertain.

"I'm gonna get ye a shirt, okay? I'll be right back." She jumped to her feet and scurried off to wherever that shirt was currently hiding.

My memories started to reform bit by bit.

I escaped from the cage by chance.

Mr. Warren sucker punched me.

They decided to take me with them.

Then they hacked their way through those… creatures that used to be called human or mutant or whatever.

There were puddles of their blood, but I wasn't fazed.

I still didn't believe it one hundred percent. I was waiting to wake up and return to that horrid nightmare.

The screams, the stench of burning fles--

"Here ye go." She slipped a long sleeved, silk shirt across my shoulders. I looked up into her face. "It's Warren's, but I don't think he'd mind."

There were scents and smells that didn't exist inside that caged world that lingered here. It was the softness around the room that finally had my heart settling. The shirt was dark blue and _way_ too big for me (I think Barbie clothes would be way too big for me at this moment!) but it was better than running around with _nothing_.

She aided me back on the bed and then went on to tell me what had happened in the past twelve hours since I had fallen asleep.

Apparently when Wolverine got to California, he told Scott (_Dad_!) that they had found and brought back one of the prisoners. That, in itself, is nothing impressive, but, when Dad called the people here and they said I gave the name "Kookie," he all but choked on his coffee and said he'd be there as soon as possible.

Mr. Warren was also called up and told the news with a similar result.

I wondered what happened to Mr. Logan, but I guess he stayed the same: a bit flighty. Actually, I think mysterious would be a better way to classify him.

"Do they know ye?"

I nodded slowly as I dressed in the ill fitting clothes. She blamed the sizes on leaving the shopping to the males, since she didn't want to leave me alone with the creepy, Wolverine-like girl, Laura.

After I finished dressing in lose fitting underwear, a sports bra (Thank goodness they didn't try to find one with the number and letter! Men are _so_ clueless about trying to unravel that enigma.), sweatpants, and the same silk shirt she brought me before, I picked up my pen and pad of paper.

_"Kookie Summers,"_ I wrote out.

"Summers?" she questioned in disbelief. "You're a Summers?"

_"Adopted," _I wrote in reply.

Something turned on a light in her mind because her face lit up with some type of recognition. "You're the one who went missing right before--" Rahne snapped her mouth shut and looked away for a second before turning back to me with a smile.

A forced, hiding-something-important smile that would have made me raise an eyebrow-- if I had one to raise. Professor Xavier would probably look like _Elvis_ compared to me at that moment. I wasn't bitter, I was bald.

Grumble, grumble.

Wishing to totally side step the questions I might have about her earlier half-statement, she dangled the perfect bait in front of me.

Food.

Rahne said they had made lunch and, if I was hungry-- well, she didn't finish because I grabbed her hand and started toward the door.

* * *

"Glad to see you again, Kookie." Mr. Logan had a cocky, amused sound to his voice.

I couldn't be sure, but I think he must have been smirking as well.

Mr. Logan, Mr. Warren, and Dad all showed up but the reunion did _not_ go as happy-happy as I had thought it would.

Why?

I had my head in a toilet.

Just because I had four, thick sandwiches, a family sized bag of Doritos, three glasses of milk, and every pickle and banana in the house, who knew all that food would use my stomach as a trampoline and catapult back out of my mouth?

"Didn't we tell you not to eat so fast or so much?" Josh shouted from back in the kitchen. I would have growled at him, but a sandwich double flipped off my stomach and did a cannonball into the toilet at that moment.

"Where the hell was she!" Scott demanded, doing a fairly good impersonation of Mr. Logan when the beer runs out.

When Dad had come into the bathroom, our eyes met briefly (I think) before I had my face back in the porcelain. Then he left and started questioning everyone there.

First was Mr. Logan (it was hard to hear between the retching and the flushing) and why he didn't recognize my scent right off. The chemicals they sprayed us down with apparently wiped us clean of scents. Guess they didn't want anyone having a "flavor" they didn't need to or something.

Ugh, the thought of food caused me to dry heave.

Mr. Warren pointed out that in my current condition (bald and bony, not puking) there was no way to easily recognize me when they found me.

Also, my voice was not exactly in working order, Josh added.

Yeah, this wasn't exactly my dream reunion.

It took another ten minutes before I felt sure that my stomach was completely empty, if I hadn't thrown it up as well, and could move away from the toilet. Josh was kind enough to get me some dental supplies. I gargled for a good while, trying to get that oh so lingering taste out of my mouth. Next was the scouring of my teeth with the toothbrush and toothpaste.

By the end of it all, Josh had poked his head in the bathroom again to see what was taking so long. Guess he was the most amiable of the group.

_That_ little fact I should have guessed, since he was the only one who wasn't giving me the suspicious stare.

When I finally staggered back out to the living room, Dad was standing in front of the fireplace like a teacher with the others scattered around the room facing him.

"Kookie," he stated, not just _said_ but stated. I didn't have amnesia; I didn't throw up my brain (yet). "We need you to tell us everything."

I'm doing better, thanks. I'll remember to eat less and more slowly next time. Glad to see you too, Dad!

_Those_ were answers to the questions I _thought_ he'd ask.

I should have known better.

It was business before emotions.

Glad to know some things stay the same.

I was thrilled to see him, to finally be able to see myself in those ruby quartz glasses again and guess what his eyes looked like underneath. A smile cracked my face when I pictured him with bug eyes like the bad guy at the end of _Who Framed Roger Rabbit?_

"We told him all that we knew going in," Mr. Warren piped in; he was to my right and Dad was to my left. "We weren't looking for those people; it was a false tip that led us there."

Fabulous.

I was rescued on a fluke.

"Kookie?" My attention went to Josh, who was approaching me at a very slow pace. "Can I try to see if I can get your voice to work?"

Again, my eyebrow would have shot to my hair line--if I had _either_ at the moment--and I shrugged as a reply. His hand came toward me and it took everything in me not to try to a) break his arm or b) run away trying to scream. I would have failed at both, but _trying_ was what was important, right?

His hand was warm, I don't know why I thought it would be cold, as he gently placed it on my throat. Fear slithered through me on the back of a snake, laughing like the Joker, when I had a brief flash of someone choking me, but Josh only put his palm flat against my skin.

There was a tingle and warmth in and on my throat for a few seconds, which was different from Daisy-Mae's, another old teammate, healing touch. Often hers felt like a band-aid being pulled off of you. Then he pulled his hand away, a smile of success on his face.

"That should do it." He then waited for me to do something.

My eyes darted around to everyone else, and they were all waiting for me to do _something_.

Don't ask me why I suddenly found my words dried up and all my questions hid under my mind's bed in fear.

"Kookie?" Dad finally questioned, cocking an eyebrow over his glasses.

_Show-off,_ I thought, being jealous of his eyebrow.

Then a little smile crept across my face as those memories of me having to be on a sugarless, vegetable loaded diet came to the front of my mind. It would be a petty thing to say, but it would make _me_ feel better.

So I looked directly at Mr. Logan, Mr. Warren, and Dad, made sure to give a head-to-toe examination before crossing my arms, stared Dad square in the face and said, "You've all gotten _so_ fat."

There was a grunt of amusement from Mr. Logan, a chuckle from Mr. Warren, and Dad smiled a real smile and finally hugged me to him. It felt great to be back in a safe environment and with people who cared about me.

"Everyone will be glad to see you," Mr. Warren said, one hand on my shoulder. "At least when you can cast a shadow again."

I glared, but he just smiled.

Of course, no happy reunion would be complete without that pesky rain cloud of reality spitting lightning and dropping hailstones.

"I have a question," the golden boy piped up. "If you don't want anyone else to know about this group, what exactly--I mean, how are we going to explain her to the rest of the X-Men?"


	2. Deerly Beloved Threads

Why Me

**Chapter 002**

* * *

Author's Note: I know it has been a long time between updates but that is because I figured people would rather longer, well written chapters than short, choppy and slightly illiterate chapters. ^^;;

I think… Anyway, this chapter topped off at 21 pages! Whoo-Hoo!!! And all of it has been edited, rethought and carefully tested for Kerry-ness! I really hope you all enjoy this!

Oh yeah, _guess _what happens on May 7?? The _wonderful, sexy _and _skyjillionaire_ **IRON MAN** is hitting theaters with movie number 2!!! Something about the hot, single and billionaires of the comic worlds that just get me to purr…namely Bruce Wayne and Tony Stark. ME-OW!

_Special thanks_: Okay, so has everyone noticed how much more---legible and coherent the chapters are as compared to the vast majority of _Lucky Me_? That is because of the magnanimous, gifted and benevolent editing of the **ZeldaAddict42**! She is an _awesome_ beta who is very gifted at putting up with my Kerry and me! xD

* * *

"We can always say we found her on the lawn," someone offered.

For three days they had been battling back and forth over what story they could concoct to tell the rest of the X-Men, since this little, happy group, X-Force, was a hush-hush.

I personally couldn't have cared less in the matter, seeing as I was still nursing an earlier blow from the first day I saw my old mentors again.

On that day, after Josh asked about how they were going to explain me, I noticed that Emma's name kept popping up. Also, something else that made me curious was the fact that Scott seemed to be defending her or saying what she would or would not believe.

That's when I asked _one_ simple question of my own, "Where's Jean?"

You would think I had asked about how babies were made and wanted all the intimate and gory little details, the way they everyone suddenly seemed to need to be elsewhere. Warpath needed to go work out, the growling girl, Laura, just walked out, Josh mentioned something about checking up on Rahne, and that left me with Dad, Mr. Logan, and Mr. Warren.

"What is going on?" Okay, so I asked _two_ questions, kick me.

"Jean—isn't here," Mr. Warren started out, and then his eyes darted away from me and to Dad.

_Duh_!

"So where is she?" So I was up to three questions, who was really counting!

Oh, right, that would be me.

"Uh—" he went to continue, running a hand through his hair.

"Let Cyke tell her," Mr. Logan finally said. He walked between Dad and I, lighting a cigar. "Do your own dirty work with this one, Slim."

Mr. Warren seemed to silently agree and followed Mr. Logan on the balcony. After the glass door slid shut, I turned to Dad and waited (I would have lifted my eyebrows but, well, you get the idea by now).

His face was set in stone, never a good sign. His mouth was a straight line, all emotion having been drained from him. I wasn't talking to _Dad_; I was standing before _Cyclops_.

"Sit down," Cyclops told me.

That was the second sign that something "not-good" was going to come about.

Again, I dropped like a stone to the floor right where I stood.

An eyebrow crept above his glasses, but that was the only reaction to my frank reply to his command.

"Kerry," he started off, crossing his arms in front of his chest. My first name before I had it legally changed when he and Jean adopted me was like a friggin' neon sign of trouble. "A lot of things have changed."

What, Jean have a sex change and become a Buddhist monk?

"We live in San Francisco, we are no longer a school and—Jean is dead." He waited.

I blinked.

For some reason, I heard the words but they didn't seem real. Dad waited for a reaction and I was waiting for—something else. I don't know what else I could have waited for, but I just rejected his words in my mind.

"She—died in battle," Cyclops continued. "It was about six months ago." He waited again for something from me.

I just stared up at him.

I _still_ couldn't quite comprehend what he was telling me.

Denial is such a wonderfully happy place to live.

"And Emma and I—are together."

I guess I finally bugged him enough with my lack of reaction that he squatted down in front of me to look me in the eyes.

"Do you understand?"

After what felt like a lifetime, I glanced down at his hands. He had his right hand out in front, stabilizing him while his left hand was lazily hanging off his left knee.

_Then_ it hit me what he had said.

_Then_ it sunk into my head.

My heart just turned white and exploded into ashes.

Tears started to burn my eyes like I had set them on fire.

Dad didn't have his wedding ring on.

He _always _wore his wedding ring.

It was gone, and so was any indication he might have _ever_ had one on his hand.

I looked back up to him, the tears falling down my face, and didn't say a word.

I didn't speak to anyone for the rest of the day.

_Now_, back to the conversation about how they were going to explain me to the rest of the team.

"She hit her head, had amnesia, and only recently remembered who she was?" Josh offered with a shrug.

Scott said Josh's idea might be plausible and I rolled my eyes.

"Tell them I went to a fat-farm that practices _extreme_ methods."

"You aren't helping, Kookie," Scott let me know, and I passed a glance over toward the kitchen where he was massaging his temples.

I rolled my eyes again and went back to the platter of fruit in front of me.

Thanks to Josh and his magic touch, I was able to stomach food again—as long as I didn't gorge myself. Also, I had to constantly eat because Josh had it hard enough repairing the damage, but there were no nutrients and all that stuff to even aid in the rebuilding of muscles and such. He was rather surprised to find that I had _no _marrow in my bones, but Mr. Warren quickly explained that I once had wings and Josh muttered something about that being a positive. The massive amount of repair did have a cool side effect though; all the dead nutrients it produced had my hair growing back.

"Move over, peach fuzz," James said, pushing my legs off the couch so he could drop down there instead.

Okay, so my hair isn't growing that fast and some of the people in the house like to rub my head because it "feels neat."

"Why not just say that Logan found her on one of his John-Wayneish missions?" James asked, stealing an apple from my feast.

The guy was like five times my size, I wasn't going to deny him anything. Heck, I wasn't even going to _glare_ at the man.

I dug my hand back into the grapes, pulled a bunch out and started to pop them in my mouth one at a time.

"That might work." I could see the wheels turning in Dad's head. "It wouldn't be far from the truth. You found her and brought her here to get her healthy before introducing her back to the X-Men."

"And you think Frost'll eat that?" Mr. Logan questioned, sipping his beer.

"She won't question your solo missions," Scott replied firmly. "And we need to have Kookie checked out by Hank. Elixir already said that he can't tell if her powers are there or gone."

Oh, did I forget to mention that?

Turns out they can't tell if I lost my powers or not. The chemicals those sickos fed, watered, and bathed us with were laced with some type of power suppressant. It's so thoroughly locked into my blood, Josh can't get rid of it all at once without killing me.

Good to know, isn't it?

* * *

"_Still_ having trouble sleeping?"

My heart screamed like a little girl as I twisted my body around to see who it was that had just scared ten years off my life.

Mr. Warren stood, leaning on the doorway to the balcony with his arms crossed and just _staring_ at me in question.

Before the heart attack surprise, I had been leaning against the railing of the balcony, watching the trees, moon, and clouds. You really don't realize how much you miss nature until you are stuck in a metal cage for months on end.

"Yeah," I replied, my voice coming out as a squeak. I cleared my throat and turned back to where I had been before.

I could hear him coming up behind me and then he followed my example of leaning his forearms on the railing and staring out at the landscape.

This could only mean one thing—there was a "talk" coming along.

Wonder which topic he was going to try tonight?

Since the first pass-out-from-sheer-exhaustion-coma-like sleep, I hadn't been able to sleep very long or very deep.

This was going on one week since I had been rescued (by accident) and the fourth day that Mr. Warren, for reasons known only to _him_, had also been up and about at three in the morning.

The first night, he kept trying to convince me to go back to bed and _try_ to sleep.

I ended up staring at the ceiling for an hour before I got back out of bed and wandered through the house.

Second night, he offered sleeping pills and my reply was a snort. I had enough things going on with my body without the aid of little white pills, thank you very much!

Third night, he just gave up and started to talk to me.

So this is night number four, I had no idea what was going to go on tonight.

"Can I ask you something?"

_Like me saying "no" would really stop you_, I thought in bitter amusement.

"Sure."

"Why haven't you asked about anyone?" He turned to me; I could see him do this through the side of my eye. "You haven't wondered what everyone is doing or how they've been?"

"Keh," I started, lifting off my arms and resting on my hands instead. "Considering how the _first_ person I asked about ended up, I'm not too eager to hear any _other_ bad news."

He tilted his head to one side, his eyes getting wider for a second as if to mutely say "well yeah." If Mr. Warren was going to say anything else, I cut him off with my rambling.

"_And_ you've become Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, with the wings and skin." I unconsciously rubbed my jaw where he'd punched me a week ago. "Do I really want to find out anything else? I've been left on pause while everyone else has been changing—moving forward."

"Everything always changes, Kookie." Could anyone _else_ hear Professor's voice flying out of Mr. Warren's mouth or was it just me?"We have to adapt and move on…"

I started to block him out after that line. For some reason, I felt anger boiling up in me. He had a lot of nerve standing here and telling me how I'm supposed to drop the past and just dance to the new music when I still had yesterday's tunes ringing in my ears.

Gripping the railing, I felt my fingertips ache from the amount of pressure I was putting behind them. _He_ didn't get locked up for months; _he _didn't have to witness those "ceremonies" and see a living, breathing person be devoured in the name of heaven and redemption—

My stomach twisted and churned.

Thrusting my head over the railing, all that was in my stomach came rushing out as the memories of something I had blocked out came back in full force.

I had suppressed their rituals.

I didn't want to remember the screaming, the blood, and the demonic sounding praises as the bits and pieces were passed around.

"Kookie, are you okay?!" Mr. Warren was rubbing my back, and at the end of the up-chuck session, I pulled back and wrapped my arms around me. Tears were falling from my eyes as I looked over at him. I know I didn't smell the best, I mean, _hello,_ I just recycled my dinner, but it didn't stop him from dragging me into his arms. He rested his cheek on the side of my head, held me, and kept trying to tell me that things were okay now.

It sucked. If ever I got the chance to hunt down and return the favor, pain, and nightmares to those cannibals, I _so_ would in a heartbeat!

* * *

They left me!

They left _me_ and they left a _note_.

"_Kookie,_

_Something came up. Stay put and don't answer the phone. Scott will be coming in a few. Be back soon."_

That was it!

…

Okay, so there was one more little line.

"_**Stay away from the laundry room."**_

I tell you, give Wolverine bubble gum scented, pink underwear _once_ while on laundry duty and you are marked for life!

And what the heck did 'in a few' mean when they wrote about Dad? A few minutes, a few hours, a few billion years--?

I smooshed up the note and threw it in the general direction of the kitchen.

Great.

I plopped down on the couch, arms crossed and at full pout.

I was still a teenager and totally allowed to throw unwarranted hissy fits.

By the time that Dad did show up, he handed me a bag and told me to change into what was inside.

If it was a uniform, I was going to laugh. I was probably the only person who ever wore the 'X' that the spandex would be _baggy_ on!

It was a pair of new sweatpants, a t-shirt, and undergarments. I think he must have had someone _else_ do this because I couldn't imagine Scott going into a department store and asking the clerk for panties and bras in his daughter's size. It just _seemed_ like that would be wrong.

I had barely spoken three words together to Scott since he had announced, rather coldly, that Jean was dead and left it at that.

So I was _not_ fooled when he announced, with a smile that was _so_ forced, that he was going to take me into the nearest city to make sure I had clothes that fit properly. He was trying to rebond or apologize or _something_.

I looked at him, looked in the mirror to my right, and then turned and disappeared down the hall. When I came back, wearing Josh's hoodie, I stopped in front of him and then continued out the door.

I climbed into the SUV and pulled the hood up over my fuzzy head.

Scott asked a few questions which I mainly ignored but felt horrible about doing it.

It's hard to be so _mad_ at someone and still really want them to be a part of my life. I mean, I had spent months missing this man and now he was here but I felt that if I acted all happy-happy with him that I was betraying Mom somehow. Almost as if her death had no meaning to me and I could forgo the fact that Scott had not found a shoulder to cry on but a size-D bust line.

Just the thought of Emma taking advantage of a grieving Scott made me dislike her even more. The poor guy was mourning the loss of his true love and here she comes, plastic and botox with a pulse, to 'help' him over his beloved by offering her body—oh, and of course, to fill in the position as leader.

What a wicked witch.

Annoyed by my thoughts, I crossed my arms and huffed.

"Are you cold?" Dad questioned, turning up the heat.

"Not really," I replied, the first real reply that he had gotten today.

"Kookie, look…"

Oh great, give them one answer and suddenly the 'talk' time begins. Why was everyone trying to talk to me like I was a kid going through puberty and wanted to know about 'the birds and the bees.'

I did _not_ want to talk about anything.

Talking made me remember.

Remembering made me freak out.

Freaking out made everyone walk on eggshells around me and pity me.

Pity made me not want to bring the subject up ever again!

Do you see the vicious cycle? Sheesh, you think they would have learned but noooo.

"I know that you hearing about Jean's death shouldn't have been one of the first things you heard from us, especially after what you've been through," he started off, trying to keep his voice from going into Robocop mode, "but you needed to know."

Tears stung my eyes, but--

"_CRAP_!" Scott really didn't say that word, but the stronger variation of that word. He slammed on the breaks and I wasn't prepared so I went jolting forward, the belt locked and was choked.

As if that wasn't pleasant enough, I was then slammed back into the seat.

Before I could get my voice to work or my eyes back into my head, Dad had jumped out of the SUV, slammed his door shut, and was in front of the vehicle.

What the _heck_ just happened?!

Was this an electric powered car and we ran out of extension cord or something!?

Shaking, I unbuckled myself and managed to fall out of the car and somehow land on my feet. By then, Dad was in the _back_ looking at something. Staggering, I walked up to him and saw he was looking at the road, and before I asked anything, I followed his gaze down.

"You killed Bambi," I pointed out.

There was a deer with little horns but a big body lying on the road in a growing puddle of blood.

"He jumped out of nowhere!" Scott defended.

"I betcha he jumped out of the woods," I offered, slightly mortified but still in shock. "And you killed him; you killed Bambi."

"You aren't helping," Dad muttered, looking up and down the road as if there was going to be a deer on patrol and he was going to be arrested for murder. "It smashed the driver's side headlight."

"You killed Bambi." Dad looked at me and sighed.

"Kerry," his tone was flat, and then he started to laugh under his breath. I looked up at him, and then he turned to me with a lopsided smile. "Maybe he was Rudolph."

"Rudolph?" I questioned, and he looked at the deer, lifted his glasses, and shot low on the deer and sent it sailing through the air.

My jaw dropped and the sickening _plonk_ it made when it landed in the woods made it almost fall off.

"See? He flew."

"Y-y-you just--!" I was waving my hands around in emphasis.

"Took care of a problem." Dad smirked. He then told me to get back into the car as he started to move toward the front of the SUV.

"B-but what about--" I pointed toward the carcass.

"I'll tell Wolverine I got him a snack to gnaw on when he gets back. Now get in."

I was speechless walking back to the front of the car and remained so for the rest of the trip to the town.

* * *

If my face was set on fire, it probably would have been less bright and hot than it was at that moment; walking along the sidewalk of the shopping district of whatever town we were in.

I really should have known that Mr. Warren would _never_ live anywhere but an exclusive, rich place. That being said, I looked like I was the backwoods version of '_Pretty Woman,_' without the 'pretty' or the cute, rich guy.

Baggy sweatshirt, sweat pants, and borrowed shoes from Rahne never felt weird since I ran around in the white version of a potato sack for months in that crazy place, but I felt out of place now.

"What about that store?" I glanced up to see which store Scott could be talking about and the name was "_."_ All the windows were heavily tinted so I had no idea if they even sold clothes, but I knew I wanted to get off the streets and away from the stares people were giving me.

"Fine. Great!" I answered, grabbing his arm and hauling him into the store after me.

Next time Scott suggested a store, I must remember the women he hangs out with are accustomed to skin tight, low cut, sheer, and exposing clothes.

Once inside, Dad asked for a sales girl to help me and then I was shoved into a dressing room that had a sheer curtain protecting what little modesty I might pretend to still have from the rest of the store.

She brought me an armful of clothes and the first thing she insisted on me changing was my underclothes.

"You're so tiny!" She was egging for a big sale. "You must really watch your weight."

My lips twitched in sick amusement. Apparently thin was in and pale and sickly is ignored.

After I basically had to throw her out of the dressing room, insisting I could dress myself, I changed into one of her selected outfits and turned around to look in the mirror.

Josh was _so_ my new best friend.

I was still pale but not nearly as chalk white anymore, and my face was filling out more, my cheeks were no longer sunken in and my eyes didn't have the raccoon effect around them anymore. My legs and arms were no longer just flesh colored bones and were on their way to looking healthy again.

My eyes started to water in shock and joy.

_Why am I crying all the time!? _

I'd been drinking too much water or _something_ because I cried at anything and everything!

As I stood there, my hand covering my mouth to keep anything that might slip out (like a sob) muffled, my mind took off down a road I frequently traveled.

What would Bobby say about how I looked now?

Pain struck my heart.

Tears began to fall as I thought about his bright blue eyes, always seeming to be sparkling in their own way and making me just want to kiss him. I missed him; I missed him _so_ much.

"Kookie? Did you get stuck in a shirt or something?"

I grabbed my sweatshirt and wiped my eyes quickly. I didn't need to have Dad asking a million questions about things I couldn't really answer.

Okay, so I didn't want to talk about my love life with my _Dad_. I just didn't want him using his current relationship as an example of whatever he might feel the need to explain.

"Do you require assistance?"

"I'm fine!" I answered a bit louder than need be, but I didn't want that woman to come in the dressing room because it took an act of Congress and military backing to get her _out_ of there.

I felt self-conscious having clothes that _fit_ on my body. I was accustomed to the canvas dress or the loose sweatpants and nightshirts, not a form fighting shirt and jeans that didn't require a belt—and bra and panties that fit. Don't worry, Dad paid for those things first, after the sales girl measured me and picked out some sugary sweet sets.

Really, did I _look_ like the type of girl who would _want_ the words 'yummy' and a little red devil with his tongue sticking out all over my underwear!?

"Don't laugh," I instructed, pulling the curtain back and stepping through to the sales room where a 180 degree mirror and Dad perky salesclerk was there too, hands clasped and making eyes at dad. Too bad she didn't know he had a thing for plastic women, apparently.

I pictured Emma with stiff arms that couldn't bend sticking out and the hard-to-bend-legs that made her walk like a Barbie or a mummy from Egypt. Just the thought of a Mummy Barbie had me snickering under my breath.

"What's so funny?" Dad asked, a brown eyebrow crawling above his pink glasses like a kid playing peek-a-boo.

I only smiled with my lips sealed to hide my still yellow and hideous teeth.

"That fits you so well!" the clerk chirped.

"You need to try more on," Dad instructed. "You'll need a whole new wardrobe."

* * *

"No no no!" I cried out like a three year old. "I don't want to!" I tightened my hug-hold on one of the pillars of Mr. Warren's house and refused to let go.

It had been about a week since Scott and I went shopping. I had gotten so _sick_ of trying clothes on that I just started to agree to whatever the salesperson picked out.

Thanks to that, I now had a collection of colorful clothes that I couldn't match together. Then I was told by Rahne that _not_ matching was the new matching and that if I did decide to wear hot pink with lemon yellow, I was on the road of fashion.

I grumbled about making a U-turn or preferring to end up in a ditch.

Thankfully Mr. Warren, after seeing me in such an outfit, was kind enough to bring me jeans the next day.

But let me get back to why I am wrapped around a wooden pole and pitching a fit like a toddler.

"You need this, Kerry," Scott tried. I shot him a look over my shoulder.

"I have no body fat! I don't _have_ to do it!"

"Do you realize how ridiculous you are acting?" Mr. Warren questioned, rubbing his eyes with a finger and a thumb.

"Or how stupid you look?" James piped in from where he sat watching TV.

"Just because you are _thin_ doesn't mean you are _fit_," Scott pointed out.

"You just want an excuse to beat the crap outta me without feeling guilty!" I accused. "I told you I was sorry for mixing the hot sauce with the spaghetti sauce!"

It was _so_ an accident.

Since they leave me up here _all the time_, I have gotten to practice cooking…_a lot_.

A few days ago I spilled the hot sauce in the pot with the spaghetti sauce but didn't think it would be enough to send Mr. Sensitive-tongue diving for the sink in an urge to slurp down water.

I thought Mr. Logan was going to wet his pants he laughed so hard.

"_That_," Dad glowered, "has nothing to do with _this_." He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb.

They thought it was time that I started to shape up again. They wanted me to work out. They wanted me to exercise.

Kerry doesn't like exercise. My new name, Kookie, does not bring to mind an exercise buff, it brings images of baked goods and milk!

They weren't buying it.

"You have to get back into shape before you can go back to the team," Dad concluded.

I glared at him as my anger flared.

He just wanted me to be another soldier! I tightened my jaw and dug my nails into the wood.

I had had many thoughts during my imprisonment and one of them was that they were _glad_ to be done with me.

Also, I had made a rather lengthy list of questions I didn't want to ask but I wanted to know the real answer to, and the top ones were:

Did you miss me?

Did you look for me?

Was I really easy to replace?

With his present attitude**, **I was kinda feeling like he was saying he didn't care about me as long as I was an able body.

"_No_," I stated flat and full of darkness.

"_Fine_," Dad spat out as he stormed off and I watched in amazement.

It took half an hour to wear him down and he was mad? That wouldn't have happened before!

I felt triumphant and I had the 'I-got-my-way' smirk across my face to prove it when I saw Dad walk back into the room, hiding something behind his back.

My eyebrow hiked when he came almost sauntering up to me and looked down at me. He bent over slightly at the waist so that he wasn't only towering over me, but more or less _looming_ over me like a black thunderstorm cloud.

I have to admit, I swallowed hard when he did that.

"So you don't want to work out?" His voice had an almost—sweet tone to it. I swear I broke out in a sweat.

"No?" As solid and sure as I thought my answer would be it came out limper than a cooked spaghetti noodle.

"Then I'll give you a choice, either you go into the gym—_willingly_ or—" Then he _smirked_, I don't mean the tiny smirk he used to give, I'm talking about a Cheshire cat _smirk_.

"Or?" I echoed, darting my eyes around trying to see if anyone else knew what he had up his sleeve, or more precisely, behind his back.

He stood straight up, brought his hands from behind his back and flicked the switch to the 'on' position of the little electronic device he held in his hand.

The soft buzzing sound it made should have been drowned out by the thumping of my fearful heart.

My eyes grew five times their size.

"You _wouldn't_." I stated, my grip on the beam lessening greatly.

He waved the electric razor over my head and I yelped, pushing away from the pillar with my legs.

I scrambled away in the most disgraceful crab-walk imaginable, but I _was_ putting distance between the two of us. I felt like I was safe when I had hit the dining room chairs and scampered underneath the table, pulling the chairs like barbed wire, as close as I could to keep him away from me.

Scott hunched down, razor still buzzing in his hand as he peered at me through the back bars of the chairs. "I'm going to shave what little hair you have _off_."

I made a whimper and leaned back and away from him and the buzz of baldness.

"What's it going to be, Kookie?" He asked with a cocky grin on his face. "Sweat or shave?"

My eyes went back and forth from the gym door to the razor.

He wouldn't be able to really pin me down and shave me _completely_ bald, would he?

An image bloomed in my head of me running around with just a peach fuzz mohawk and I tightened my jaw.

"Fine, you win!" I stated, boy did _that_ leave a bad taste in my mouth. "But you have to put that thing away; I don't trust you not to try!"

"Fair enough," Scott consented, triumph just blaring in his voice.

As he walked off, back to where the bedrooms were, I heard James and a few others start to snicker at me.

I crawled from underneath my table fortress and with as much shattered dignity as I could pick up; I shuffled my way into the gym.

Staring at the machines of pain and shame, I felt a heavy depression flop on me like a sumo wrestler. I _really_ didn't miss this part of the whole X experience.

Walking to one of the arm strengthening contraptions, I sighed like someone just broke my heart and banged my head back on the padded seating.

This sucked.

Didn't they realize that making me strong didn't help?

I was "super-power" strong last time and what happened? I got kidnapped and held like a lab rat shoved head first up Hell's butt.

Now there's an image to go to sleep by.

* * *

"I can't _do_ this!" I pleaded with the thick-headed, sugar hating, sadistic man I had the pleasure of calling my dad.

"Kookie, hold _still_," Josh fussed as he tried to keep his hands on mine as I used them to punctuate my words. I talked with my hands, at least as long as they weren't crossed against my chest in anger or annoyance.

"You need to be examined and tests run to see what _exactly_ is irreversible and what isn't."

"B-but you already know that I have my powers! Well, at least _part_ of them!"

Oh, _that_ was a fun night when I found out my power was only dormant and not gone like most of the mutants of the world.

It had been about a week ago when I was having a horrid nightmare of those crazy fanatics storming Mr. Warren's house while X-Force was gone on a mission. No matter where I tried to run, they were in the shadows pushing me forward and pulling me back--back into the small cage they had me in for months.

Apparently, I was thrashing around in the bed enough to wake Mr. Logan and James. When Mr. Logan tried to shake me awake, I grabbed him by the throat with one hand and punched him solidly in the chest with the other and effectively sent him through the wall.

So, I now have a Wolverine-sized hole in my wall.

Mr. Warren was not happy the next day and James couldn't stop laughing about it.

Mr. Logan was picking splinters of wood out of his hair for two days.

"But I—I barely have any _hair_." Stupid reason much? _Yes,_ but I was desperate.

In my memories, everyone was happy and healthy. They fought and played tricks on each other but they were together, alive and a family.

Dad wanted to drag me back into a place where Mom wasn't. I didn't _know_ this place! I didn't _know_ San Francisco and I sure as _heck_ wasn't going to call _Emma_ 'mommy'.

I would rather choke on a hair ball.

"Your hair is growing fast and that is a _big_ difference than _bald_." Scott pointed out. "You need to be evaluated by Hank. We need to see to what extent your power has come back and to see if they have done anything to you."

Like stepping on a twig in the woods, I snapped.

"You mean besides _kidnapping_ and treating me like _inhuman crap_ for _nine months_!?" Oh, that was one of my buttons, can you tell? The anger rose quickly in my chest and I pushed it down by digging my nails into my palms.

"I didn't mean it like _that_, Kerry."

I fumed silently, for which Josh was grateful as he could extend his powers into fixing my health more.

One would think that after six weeks of repair, I would be, I dunno, ready for the road**, **but my severe malnutrition had my body poisoning itself in defense (or defiance, who knows!). Something about my mutation was trying to bulk against whatever they were doing to me and the only way it saw fit to _save_ me was to _kill_ me.

That soundedlike a well thought out plan, something I would do on accident, so it made sense my body would think it was logical in its own illogical, unthinking state.

"Don'tcha want to see your old buddies?" Mr. Logan questioned, before tipping the long neck he'd been sucking up straight up to allow ever last drop of beer in the bottle into his mouth.

_If _anyone else had said that, _if_ it hadn't been from the man I had recently punched through a wall and was sheepishly apologizing to ever since, I would have speared him with a glare.

"Why so quick?" Mr. Warren questioned for the umpteenth time. "She isn't healthy enough." He motioned toward Josh. "He has been doing this almost every day and _still_ has a ways to go."

"She _is_ for the story we have about how we found her," Scott wasn't giving an inch on this.

When they had come back from whatever mission they were on, Cyclops dropped the little matter of me-going-to-San-Francisco in their of them shrugged it off and went to find something on TV or in the 'fridge.

"What's the rush?" Mr. Warren wasn't beating a decomposing horse to death; he was slicing and dicing this horse corpse.

I didn't understand much either, but I knew better than to try and pry reasoning from Cyclops' thick head when he wasn't willing to give it.

"What if something more is wrong that Josh isn't able to detect?" Cyclops questioned, his face set in stone. I think the four presidents on Mount Rushmore twitch more than Dad does when he goes all serious faced. "We might be stalling when she may need serious medical care that Josh isn't able to cover."

"Or you might be just adding unnecessary stress to her by taking her back to the compound," Mr. Warren was still white-winged, which according to Josh (the golden guy) was a good thing. When Mr. Warren went blue-winged, that meant you better use someone as a shield because the feathers were about to start flying.

James grumbled as the argument went on in the kitchen and then told me to turn up the volume.

"But you _hate_ this show," I reminded him.

"I'd rather hear _chick_ drama over _male_ drama," he muttered.

Shrugging, I grabbed the remote and turned _Bridezilla_ up until it drowned out the two men in the kitchen. As luck would have it, that's when the current bride, Erin, threw a _huge_ tantrum that included a lot of beeped out words and her screeching.

It carried on for at least ten more minutes until Mr. Logan came in, threatening to cut the cable wires unless we turned the bleep-bleep-bleep show _down_. A man could only take _so much_ before he had to start killing things after all!

I lowered the volume just in time to catch the tail end of the conversation, "…only because of _Jean_."

_That_ caught my attention. In fact it caught everyone's attention. All those present twisted their faces to where Scott and Mr. Warren were almost nose to nose. Mr. Warren was the one who mentioned the taboo name of 'Jean'. Every time _she _came up into conversation, it was like bringing up the fact that someone wore adult diapers and needed to be changed.

"That's _enough_," Scott concluded, stepping away from Angel. "I'll be back on Tuesday to pick her up; I'm going back now to give Hank a heads one, _no one,_" he pointedly turned to us in the living room, "better deviate from the plan. Am I understood?"

His glasses were glowing slightly brighter as he turned to Mr. Warren. "That includes you, Angel."

Mr. Warren's face contorted in silent rage as he spat out a "fine" and turned before storming off to the balcony.

As the glass door slammed shut behind him, I heard a few people release the breaths they'd been holding in—including me.

After Scott left, I tossed the remote to Warpath and crawled over the back of the couch to hunt Mr. Warren down-- if he was still on the ground somewhere.

That was one of the most beautiful things about having wings; you could fly away from your problems. When Scott was being _too_ Scott, I would simply fly away because what was he going to do?

Shoot me down?

Riiight.

The balcony was empty so I leaned over the railing to see if I could see him doing circles or _something_ but there wasn't anything. I had just turned around when I felt something hard and heavy knock me off my feet and over the railing.

"_AHHHHHH!!_"

There was nothing but blue sky in my vision and my shrill screaming in my ears.

"_Kookie_," I heard and that made me shut up for a second, and in that second I realized I had done a U-turn and was now staring at the green of the forest.

Realizing this had not improved my status of falling to my death, I started screaming again.

"_KERRY!_"

I was flipped around again and I cam nose to nose with Mr. Warren.

I stopped screaming, blinked at him and then clutched to him like superglue.

"Are you _crazy_?" I shouted, and he flinched. "Are you trying to _kill _me!?"

"Are you trying to make me deaf?"

I would have tried to choke him, but I had to consider that since he did a deep _swoop_ before climbing upwards, it probably wouldn't be the best thing to do if I wanted to live. So I did the only thing I could think of, I closed my eyes and tightened my grip around his neck and waist (my legs were wrapped around his waist from fear of falling).

I felt, rather than heard, him chuckling at me.

"Shuddup," I muttered.

"I'm not going to drop you, so you can loosen up," to prove his point, he tightened the arm he had wrapped around my waist.

Slowly, I cracked open one eye to see white clouds, blue skies and white feathers. As leisurely as a rebate check from a cell phone company, I slackened my grip until I could pull back enough to look the highly amused blonde in the eyes.

"What was _that_ for?" I demanded in a high pitched voice; guess I was still kinda scared. My heart rate was still so high I think it was on the moon somewhere.

"You came out looking for me didn't you?" He raised an eyebrow. "Or were you going to jump?"

I glared at him. "I'm thinking you wanted me to jump since you _pushed_ me!"

Mr. Warren gave that playboy 'I'm-too-handsome-to-get-in-trouble' smile that would have anyone melting.

Well, almost anyone, to me it was just his version of a sheepish grin.

"At least you stopped looking like someone made your puppy into meatloaf," Mr. Warren said, trying to break the silence of my glare. His words had my mind back to Scott's "Rudolph" moment and I shivered.

"Cold?"

"Not exactly," I returned, looking away. I was not about to tell him that the funny smell just a mile down his drive was a rotting deer corpse.

It took a minute or two but he relocated me to his back. I was able to hold on by curling my arms under his arm pits and up to his shoulders while my legs remained like a vice around his waist.

"Hold on," he instructed, "and _don't _scream." With that said, he did a sort of back flip in the air and sent us sailing downward, back toward the forest. I didn't scream this time, I was happy to feel the wind and freedom of flight (even though I was technically just a passenger).

A great sadness started to creep back into my heart and I did my best to beat it back down in the pit it had crawled out from. There was no need to mourn my wings. I hadn't had them in a _long_ time. Why should I start crying and moping all over again when it was past?

"So what did you want?" Mr. Warren questioned after a good twenty minute acrobatic flight was finished and he started turning lazy circles in the sky. He peeked over his shoulder at me.

"What was it about Jean? You said her name, I'm nosey. And after trying to _kill_ me I think you owe me an answer." His head whipped forward so fast I think I got a razor burns from where his hair hit me.

"It doesn't matter," Mr. Warren's voice dropped from the light-hearted-billionaire to the boring-adult tone.

I felt my anger flare and my eyebrow tick."Why is it when _you_ ask questions, I _have_ to answer them or I am threatened with only salads for a week, _but_ if _you_ don't want to answer a question for me I am supposed to just accept that!"

He was quiet and I was getting more and more annoyed.

I guess some things never change, no matter how much time has passed or who has passed away.

* * *

Tuesday came faster than I had ever known a Tuesday to come around.

I was sitting in the front passenger seat, again, in the Bambi-basher SUV, with Scott driving. My nerves were raw and sore from the intense stress workout I had been giving them for the past four days. Thankfully my body hadn't completely gone crazy and given up any of my breakfast in the form of throw-up.

It's a crazy thing, but Dad said he couldn't leave and come back with me in one of the jets. Instead, he brought me to the outskirt of San Francisco and from there we took Mr. Warren's 'borrowed' vehicle. What made even _less_ sense than that was that Dad decided to do this during lunch rush-hour,so the road was more like a parking lot.

"Are you okay, Kerry? You look a little—green," Dad pointed out.

I glanced over at him, my knuckles white with the stress of being surrounded by cars instead of bars. It was a metal cage of a different kind**, **and I would have loved to rip the door off and take off running down the road screaming.

"Yeah, don't get me mad**, **or I'll go all Hulk on you," I muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing," I waved a hand flippantly with a sigh. "How much longer?"

He huffed, "Don't know."

It had been like this for an hour. I leaned back in the seat, feeling _super_ tense.

I was about to see people I hadn't seen in almost 11 months! What was I going to say? What were _they_ going to say?

How many and where exactly was Dr. Hank going to be sticking needles?

What about that one taboo person I had been thinking about but not speaking about for all this time?

What about Bobby?

My stomach went in to stage dramas inside of me as it twisted violently and dropped dead. Tears started to burn my eyes and I wanted to growl at them but didn't because then Dad would have wanted to know why I was growling. If he looked at me, then he would have wanted to know why I was crying, and then he'd try to comfort me which, as everyone knows, he sucks at most of the time.

"_Finally_," Dad said gratefully, traffic finally moving forward again.

I don't know how much time passed, but it was too quick when Dad happily announced we would be arriving at the gate of the Greymalkin in less than twenty minutes.

"Pull over," I choked out.

"What?"

Ugh, I slapped my hand over my mouth, one across my stomach and then doubled over so my head was between my knees.

My stomach had decided that breakfast was expendable after all.

Dad musta understood because he swerved over and I flung the door open, jogged about ten feet away and puked my guts out. As I was heaving out my lungs, heart and left knee cap, Dad decided to be funny.

"So, next stop is lunch?"

Of _all_ the places Dad could have decided to let me 'wash up' he picked a Mc Donald's.

I was sick to my stomach, puked up every food I ever _thought_ of eating and he let me go to the bathroom in a place that reeked of old grease, stale mop water and ancient fries.

Oh, that helps settle my stomach just _so_ much.

The bathroom wasn't much better.

I was grateful I didn't need to bow before their 'porcelain god' because I think I would have been stuck to the floor.

Totally ignoring any fuzzy, green life forms that might be forming inside the faucet, I turned on the cold water and splashed my face. Thankfully, they had paper towels and not those air driers, so I was able to pat my face dry and not look like a weirdo by having to use my shirt. Walking out with wet splotches all over my shirt would be a little noticeable.

Sighing, I pushed open the door and walked out. I glanced where Scott had parked. He was parked facing away from me**, **but I could still see him smiling about something as he jabbered on his phone.

Probably talking to Emma and getting some sick kick out of her twisted stories of setting lawns of hospitals on fire or something.

I am _not_ her biggest fan. Noticed?

Preparing myself forhaving to ride the rest of the short trip with a _giddy_ Scott, I was about to leave the restaurant when someone grabbed my arm and jerked me around.

Fear slammed into me like a windshield and I was the bug!

My first thought, as quick and rather incoherent as it was, was that they were back.

The freaks and cannibals were _back_ and going to take me back to their caves!

Or they were going to deep fry me right here, right now!

"Wha…" I got out before my fear drained away to pure shock.

Beautiful,ice-in-the-sunlight-blue eyes stared back at me in the form of a glare.

My mouth flapped up and down uselessly, and not even the tightening grip on my arm made me come back to reality. When I finally remembered that I was able to speak, I swallowed all the drained fear that rested in my throat and pushed out the one name I hadn't said in _months._

"Bobby?"


	3. Bobby

Why Me

Chapter 003

* * *

_Authoress' notes:_ I got this one out sooner! :D :D Yay for me! Hope you all enjoy this!

_Special thanks_: **ZeldaAddict42**, thank you so much for your wonderful gift of betaing my mess of a mind on typed format! :D :D She is my _wonderful, wonderful_ beta! :D

* * *

"_Kerry_," Bobby fumed at the windshield. "Of all the faces to pick, you picked _her_."

"I was actually going for Sandra Bullock," I joked badly. I could tell he was getting angrier because the madder he got, the faster his speed. We were currently flying through traffic at about, oh, 80 miles per hour. I think it was almost double what the actual speed limit was supposed to be.

"Shut _up_, Mystique," Bobby snapped. His eyes shifted over to glare daggers at me.

Yes, he thought I was Mystique wearing Kerry skin.

Let me back track about twenty minutes, back to the McDonald's where I had been standing awe-struck that I was staring at the living, breathing Bobby.

"Bobby?" I questioned with my voice barely above a whisper.

"I can't believe—" He clamped his mouth shut, his blue eyes narrowing and the grip he had on my arm tightened considerably. "You're coming with me."

That short sentence was the only type of warning I had before he turned back around, jerking me forward so harshly that I literally flew off my feet into a stumble.

"Wha—What's wrong?" I questioned as he roughly pushed past the begging kids and texting teenagers without so much as an 'excuse me.'

When he slammed the door open to the outside, the _opposite_ side from where Dad was parked, he turned back around, came almost nose to nose with me, and held a finger near my face.

"You try to pull any of your tricks and I'll freeze your blood right here, right now." I had _never_ heard Bobby's voice dip into that low of an octave or hold so much malice in the tone. Again, he whirled around and continued to drag the dumbfounded me forward toward his vehicle.

The bright yellow sports car beeped and the taillights blinked as he approached, and I didn't really have time to grasp what was going on. Bobby threw open the passenger side door, all but tossed me into the seat, and belted me in.

He stuck his finger close to my face again. "I _mean_ it, Mystique. I am done playing with you."

I raised my hands to start my defense and claim that he was _crazy_, but before I could do much more than raise them, he slapped his hands around mine and quickly formed a rather hefty and thick ice structure that covered the tips of my fingers to my wrists.

As I was admiring the 'gift' in horrid fascination, Bobby slammed the door shut, went around the car**, **and slid into the driver's seat. My shock didn't even allow me to be phased by this or the fact that he revved up his car, backed out,and went speeding down the road, in the _opposite_ direction that Dad had been taking me.

Since then, Drake had done nothing but rant and seethe about how I, Mystique, must be getting desperate to try and get back into his life by using his _dead_ girlfriend's face.

"_Why_ do you think I'm Mystique?" I asked for the umpteenth time. For the first ten minutes of this impromptu trip, he just kept telling me not to say a word as he all but foamed at the mouth with anger.

"You _told _me you'd be back." His knuckles were white as they strangled the steering wheel. "With a different face, different body**, **and you'd make me fall for you." Bobby turned to glare at me for good measure. "I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to try to pull off _Kerry_."

Well, that could be taken wrong.

Whatever I was going to say was lost as a surprised yelp came out instead when he swerved in and out of traffic entering the interstate. Now I really knew what road rage was, thanks to him.

"Where are we going?" I forced out, thankful to see him jab the cruise control button.

"I don't know," he admitted, eyes flickering from the interstate to me and back again. He seemed to be exchanging anger for some other type of emotion. I could tell because he let the steering wheel go so he could run a hand through his hair a few times.

Since I knew I couldn't do anything about his driving (you know the 'air-brake' all passengers think they have when at the mercy of a crazy driver), I cautiously turned my face toward him.

Here I was with Bobby, who I had been thinking about for _months_, whose memories of his stupid jokes and lame pranks made me smile even in the pit of hell, and I couldn't do or say anything that I had thought about doing.

I had scripted and refined our reunion since I was rescued. There were a hundred different scenarios I had plotted out in my head, just in case one of them should turn out to be the realty of the situation.

Things like him being married, having a kid, amnesia, turned gay, or anything half-way thinkable.

Watching a lot of late night talk shows helped in the development of the more extreme situations.

Heck, I even had a conversation ready if his brain had been transferred inside the Yeti!

What I wasn't ready for was him thinking I was some super villain who had impersonated one of his past ex-girlfriends not too long ago and was now impersonating his _dead_ girlfriend.

I stared at him, my heart aching because every time I thought about this man, I knew that the main thing I wanted to do was to hold him again. I wanted nothing more than for my arms to be around his neck and his around my waist and to be holding each other like—well, like we used to do.

He had barely changed since I had been gone. Robert was still as handsome as ever— clean shaven face and barely noticeable laugh lines around his mouth. He wore his hair a bit different, it was longer in the front so the bangs fell in his eyes, but the back was short and trim. The t-shirt he wore hugged his arms nicely and showed off what working out every day and having a job as an 'adventurer' (that is what they put on their taxes as their occupation at least) can get you. Dark jeans and, from what I could see, tan work boot type shoes finished off his outfit.

To me this guy was my picture of a dream**!**

Yes, I was wearing rose colored glasses, regardless of the situation, when it came to Bobby because I hadn't seen him in _so_ long.

Then it kinda hit me, he had moved on.

Guess it's hard to date a ghost. Hard, _not_ impossible though!

"What?" Bobby was finally bugged enough by my constant stare, I guess.

How could I answer that? It would be a simple question to answer if **he **actually _believed_ I was me and not Mystique. I wanted to tell him how much I missed him and all that mushy stuff**, **but it would be thrown back in my face!

"Nothing," I replied with a shrug and turned to look out the window.

Something in the side mirror caught my attention; it took a split second for me to realize exactly what it was.

"Are you freakin' _kidding_ me!" Bobby apparently saw it the same time I did.

The siren from the police cruiser started to scream behind us as the bright blue lights whirled, letting everyone on the road know that someone was in trouble.

That someone was Bobby, who was swearing every known curse word, and a few I think he was making up, as he pulled over to the shoulder. He punched the glove box and it popped open; he grabbed an envelope and then fished out his wallet from his back pocket.

The cop took his time getting out of his vehicle and then swaggered up to the car, one hand on his gun and the other one holding his ticket book.

Bobby rolled down his window, and I couldn't even begin to try and smother the amused grin that spread across my lips.

"Something wrong, officer?" Drake said in his most amiable voice possible.

The man ducked down, peering into the car, and probably analyzing us behind his stereotypical cop glasses.

"What's on your hands?" hequestioned me, and my brain frantically grasped at shooting explanations as they fell from the sky of my brain. For his part, Bobby visibly paled at the question, apparently having forgotten about his ice handcuffs he put on me.

"It's a long story," I started with a weak smile. "I was playing with anti-freeze and spilled some on my hands."

_Totally **lame**_**! **I screamed to myself in my head.

The cop, officer Chakkour, slowly removed his sunglasses and then eyed Bobby.

"Can you step out of the car, sir, and bring your information."

"Sure," Bobby answered, unbuckling his seatbelt, opening the door, and slamming it shut after he was out. They moved to the back of the car where the cop looked over Bobby's information, and when they walked further back to the cruiser, I couldn't stop myself from bursting into a fit of laughter as I saw Bobby put both hands on the hood of the car and spread his legs.

Oh, there was no _way_ I was going to let him live this down!

* * *

"You haven't even set foot in the new headquarters,and I have to _bail_ you out of _jail_?" Scott tried hard to sound really mad, but the amusement was shining like a lighthouse on a moonless night.

"You could be identifying my body in a morgue," I replied sarcastically.

I had a migraine about the whole fiasco.

After we got pulled over, the cop assumed that I was some sort of crack addict because I was thin, pale,and sickly looking. Also, the fact that I couldn't stop laughing so I couldn't walk a straight line or say my alphabet backwards led him to believe that I was currently high on something.

He even went so far as to take it to the next level of indignity and accused me in a roundabout way of being a prostitute!

To make matters _worse _(hard to think that they _could_ be worse, right?), because of the top-of-the-line sports car Bobby was speeding in, the cop also assumed that Bobby was my 'employer'.

That's right, Bobby 'Iceman' Drake, pimp at large.

Naturally he, Officer Chakkour, had to drag us downtown where a background check was performed and so on.

Eventually they, the rest of the cops, came to the conclusion that I had: Officer Chakkour was an _idiot_.

What really sucked was making the phone call to a nearly panicked Dad, who, as he said, had been searching a ten block radius looking for me. I told him, briefly, what happened, and then handed the phone to Bobby.

I don't know what Dad said,but from Bobby's expression, it wasn't anything that was too pleasant.

When Dad showed up, he told me to get into the car and said to Bobby that they would have a _discussion_ about the reckless nature of this incident.

"Do you know how _mad_ they were when I told them I didn't have any ID?" I shot back, annoyed and embarrassed at the whole day.

I wanted nothing more than to hide in Mr. Warren's house in Colorado in my room with the Wolverine-sized hole in one of the walls.

"So much for keeping you low-key," Scott muttered,though his smile couldn't really be suppressed.

I gave a grunt (much like Mr. Logan), crossed my arms, and sunk further into my seat.

We _finally_ arrived at the new place, and I couldn't help but snort as we passed the huge concrete sign that read, _Graymalkin_. I can't believe they named this place after the street the mansion was on.

After this rather hectic day, my nerves were so exhausted I found myself not really caring about all that might wait behind the doors of this new—complex. It was big, it was cement, and it had a bunch of guys crawling over it like ants on your foot after you stepped on their hill.

Construction workers who were trying to repair and finish off the buildings, Scott had explained as he whizzed by them and down a smaller road that circled back behind the front of the building.

Whatever they had in New York was _nothing_ compared to this new place they had in the works.

There were at least four planes, several different land vehicles, motorcycles, many cars, and so on, and this was all in the grossly oversized garage like area where the side road led parked and told me to get out as he went and collected the two large gym bags I had packed from the back of the SUV.

He then escorted me through the halls,and I felt like a kid at the zoo. My mouth was hanging open and my eyes were open as wide as they could be.

They had workers everywhere doing, well, work. I didn't see any uniforms as we walked, which surprised me. Scott assured me that I would see the others soon enough, but the first order of business was to be evaluated by Dr. Hank.

We took an elevator ride and a few more turns before a set of doors _whooshed_ open to reveal a sci-fi type lab. Everything was shiny and made from some silver-colored metal or glass. It didn't seem like a doctor's office, but an OCD mad scientist's lab.

"Hank!" Scott called out. "I brought her."

"Indeed you have," Dr. Hank's voice came from above.

Scott and I snapped our heads up to see the great blue and furry man right above us with his white teeth showing as he smiled.

With an easy flip (show off)**,** he landed in front of me with a hard _thud_ and leaned in closely, studying me through his tiny-framed glasses.

"Is it truly you, Miss Summers?" Dr. Hank's smile faded into a thin, skeptical line as he seemed to be studying my face for electrical outlets or zits or _something_. "We believed you to have been among the fallen."

I sighed. What was _with_ these people and doubting me about being me? Who the heck would _want_ to be me!

"If I'm not the real me,then the only person more pathetic than _real _me is the person who picks to _impersonate_ me," I stated flatly. "And you look like a giant lion."

"Ha!" I wasn't given any warning as his white coat clad arms wrapped around me and pulled me tight to his he pulled me away from him, he gave a half grin to me and then faced Scott. "I suppose giving her your name has also provided her with the ability to bounce back out of the preverbal grave at will!"

Though I couldn't see it, I am _so_ sure Dad rolled his eyes at the mention of the Summers' 'curse'.

"I'll leave you two to the examinations and whatnot." He shrugged my bags back on his shoulders and announced he was going to drop them off at my new room.

After he left, Dr. Hank leveled his face to mine while peering over his glasses.

"Now, my dear Kookie, I have one very simple task for you." His voice had switched into Robo-Doc.

"Okay," I answered hesitantly.

"You must describe to me, in great detail, exactly how Robert, who I sent into town for an egg McMuffin, landed in the police station instead."

* * *

_Awkward, awkward_, I chanted this word over and over as I lay in my new bed, in my new room, with my three, yes _three_, new roommates.

After Dr. Hank was done sucking out my blood through needles, havingme pee in a cup that's opening was _way _too small for the task it was created for, and other various medical oddities, I was released to go to a girl codenamed Pixie, but her real name was Megan Gwynn.

Just like the other Meagan I knew, Daisy Meagon or Daisy-Mea, she was perky and friendly and just _not_ what I needed at the end of a hectic, nerve-killing day like today.

She was going on and on about various people, most of them I _didn't _know, and how much fun it was to be here in San Francisco and blah blah blah.

I was tired, sore, and cranky. It was no offense to the girl, but I couldn't have cared _less_ about anything at the moment except finding a bed to fall in.

It was only when she mentioned _Cerebra_ that I came back to the present.

"What?" I questioned, having only heard the name and no other words surrounding it.

"Oh yeah**,"** we have a computer in the room that is linked up to Cerebra, the mutant file-thingy, and we can access it any time." She smiled and pushed a few strands of her pink hair back behind her ear. "But only the telepaths can use Cerebrato find where the other mutants _are_."

My devious, little mind had gone to work, trying to figure out whom to look up first. This would be a much less messy way of finding those from my past X-Men experience than actually, ya know, _asking_.

So, deep in my own plots and such, I bumped into Pixie's back, not realizing she had stopped in front of me.

"Sorry," I said sheepishly. The pang of jealously that had flickered to life when I first saw her grew when her wings seem to sparkle like her eyes and smile when she said it was no problem.

I looked down, biting the inside of my cheek to make sure that my envy didn't dance on my face.

I missed my wings.

Everything started to go haywire after I lost them.

Okay, so things went nuts when Heather, my biological mother, decided to go all _Friday the 13th_ on my back and wings.

"Here we go!" She opened a door and smiled brightly, flicking on the lights.

It had two large, five-drawer dressers and two bunk beds pushed against separate walls. There was a poster of some singer named Alison Blair and some other random bands, but other than that, it wasn't very decorative.

"Yours is the top bunk on the right." she dropped down on the bottom bunk on the left.

"Who are the other two?" I asked, a small smile creeping on my face as I ran a hand over the Oreo bed sheets.

"Uhm, X-23, Laura, sleeps on the bottom bunk and Hisako, Armor, sleeps above me."

The smile quickly morphed into an 'oh-boy' expression.

Laura, who was the creepy Wolverine clone, and I were sharing a bunk bed. _Four_ girls were sharing a bedroom and a bathroom! Who thought that this was going to be _easy_?

I could just see her popping her claws through the mattress one night and into my back for snoring or something.

"With a place this big, why are we all crammed up in one room?" I asked, glancing at Megan over my shoulder.

She shrugged."Eventually we will have our own room, that's what Mr. Summers says at least. Since the building is under construction, we just have to make do."

I rolled my eyes then and decided that the best thing to do was to shove my gym bags that were on my bed under Laura's bed and call myself unpacked.

Hisako came later, and Laura was out on a mission (probably with the hush-hush group of Dad's) and wouldn't be back until who-knew-when. After some brief conversations, we all got into our separate beds and killed the lights.

Megan and Hisako were out as soon as their heads hit their pillows, but I was still staring at the ceiling.

I was annoyed because I didn't get my curious fingers on the computer to look up my old team members and others because the others refused to leave at the same time! They didn't do it on purpose, I'm sure, but it was still irksome.

I had a million questions that I wasn't sure I really wanted the answers to after asking the question about Jean.

Where was Chris? Adam? Julie? D-M?

My old team. I hadn't run into any of them or heard their names mentioned in the conversations with those who I had come into contact with as of yet. Did they survive this M-Day? Did they die? Did they quit?

I turned over in my bed again; the fifth time in two minutes and let out a sigh.

This entire day had been awkward and weird.

_I give up!_ I fumed, throwing back my covers, and as quietly as possible, I dropped down to the floor and left the room. I had to leave the door slightly open because I didn't have a key yet.

I ran a hand over my inch long hair and sighed.

Life was so weird.

I felt like I was just taken out of Washington, my home state, and thrown back into the mansion for the first time all over again. I didn't know anyone really and didn't know what I was supposed to be doing.

Ever since I met the X-Men, I had always had a path to walk (or be dragged) down. I was a student and a trainee the first time around, and now the second time around here; I stood just shrugging my shoulders.

Scott only said that I needed time to heal, to see the extent of the abuse and for questions to find answers.

I had one I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, but I knew it would be without any conclusion. I just wanted to know one thing: Why me?

Of all the mutants in the world, of all the X-Men running around, why on earth did those psychos pick_ me_ to target? Why not someone more powerful? More knowledgeable?

I was so lost in my own self-pity celebration that I didn't pay attention towhere I was going or who was along the way. It wasn't until I bumped into someone that I tripped out of my own thoughts.

"Watch where you're going," he snapped at me as I back-stepped after having run into the guy almost face first. It would have been face first if I had been looking up and not down.

"Sorry," I muttered and side-stepped, thinking that he would let it drop at that, but of course not.

"Hold up, I'm not done with you."

I turned from the few steps I had walked past him and pulled my eyebrows together in confusion.

"What? I said I was sorry."

The guy had slicked back, black hair and dark blue eyes. He stood a few inches taller than me and had a bit more muscle than I did, but then again, a _pencil_ was wider than I was at this time. He had a red shirt on and his arms crossed over it.

Great. I had to bump into the one guy in this place who probably suffers from some deep rooted need to step on people to feel better about himself or something as psycho babbleish. He just seemed to radiate with self-importance.

"What if I don't care if you said that?" He asked smugly. "What if you have to do something else to get me to forgive you?"

I turned around completely and gave him a flat stare. "I'd say good luck with that and leave. Here, let me show you." I turned around again and gave a little wave over my shoulder as I said good luck to him.

For the second time that night, I ran into something.

The only difference was that this something wasn't anything! I blinked and put my hand out in front of me, tentatively feeling the air. My hand connected with a solid wall of air.

I bit back a growl.

Glaring, I shot a look over my shoulder and saw him leaning against the wall, two fingers held up casually and a haughty smile on his lips.

"Something wrong?" he questioned, attempting to sound innocent.

"What do you _want_?" I barked. Little did he know, but my pity and my anger liked to skip along the same rain soaked parade route together hand in hand. If one fell, the other one would take over. Pity just got washed down the gutter, now anger was coming to collect for the offense.

"I want to see what the newbie can do."

"_Newbie_?" He had the _nerve _to call me _new_? I had been around the X-Men longer than he probably had! Sure, for the last nine months I had been _elsewhere,_ but that was _because_ of the X-Men **,** so technically I think it counts.

"Yeah, _newbie, _Josh told me all about you, _Summers_." He pushed himself off the wall and sauntered up to me. Leaning in slightly to me, he continued his little monologue, "And I know that you are a _has-been_."

My eyes tightened into a sharper glare as my upper lip pulled back to bare my yellowish fangs.

"Everyone here had to _earn_ the right to _stay_, to wear the X." His tone shaded to a darker version. "{I don't want you to think just because you were good enough _once_ that you still _are_."

My fear and doubts were just stated, soI guess they weren't only going around in _my_ head alone. If this little peon could see it, when would Dad? When would the other 'senior' members realize I had little to nothing to offer them without my wings?

I was already angry with his attitude, cranky from lack of sleep **,** and fearful for a handful of reasons—this punk and his words hitting so close to the core were the last things I needed tonight. I wasn't even in the new complex for a full day, and I was already butting heads with a variety of people.

Okay, so it was only this no-name hot-head, who reminded me of Chris, sans the smugness, but it was _enough_. How much was one mentally scarred, emotionally unstable girl supposed to take before she snapped and started throwing things at people?

Large, heavy things or small, sharp things.

All these thoughts had whirled up in my mind in a few seconds, and in those few seconds**,** I felt a familiar tingle in the back of my skull. My lips quirked to match his smirk. Little did he know that I had just felt my adrenaline, the main component to my power, kick into high gear.

If I was rusty with being an X-person, then this guy had just volunteered to help me start working out the kinks.

"What's your name?" I questioned nicely, though the grim grin totally ruined it.

"Julian, but everyone calls me Hellion." Julian had his hands on his hips now, still totally invading my personal space.

I cracked my knuckles by simply flexing my fingers and asked, "I'll need to know your last name, too."

"And why would you need to know _that_?"

"Haveta know what to put on your tombstone."

I slammed my fist into his conceited face before I reached the end of my sentence.

Little did I know that the fight, er, minor disagreement involving our fists and a few chairs, would somehow wake up nearly half the complex

* * *

When I rushed into the lab and came to a dead stop five feet in, Dr. Hank look up from his Chinese takeout and blinked at me. Dad was there, too, flipping through some stapled papers.

"Is there something you need, Miss Summers?"

"Mmmm!" I accused, pointing with my apple-holding hand at Dad and stomping a foot in typical teenage fashion.

Scott's eyebrows rose quickly over his glasses as I proved to be more entertaining than whatever he had been reading.

"I don't yet have the delight of comprehending your secret code," Dr. Hank admitted, chopsticks still halfway to his mouth.

I sucked in my lips and secured them there by lightly biting down and held out the hand that had been over my mouth. I knew it was bloody, and that, if nothing else, would get their attention!

"Oh my stars and garters." Dr. Hank dropped the chopsticks into the box and quickly came over to my side. He took my hand in his (maybe he calls them paws now?) and examined it like it was a dissected lizard. "What have you managed to do to yourself now?"

I glared at him and thrust the apple I'd been holding directly in front of his face.

He took the apple and scrutinized it carefully before plucking two yellow-tinged _fangs_ out of the skin.

His blue eyes shifted from the teeth, now in palm of his hand, to me, and then back to the teeth.

"What is it, Hank?"

"It seems our dear Kookie will be expecting a visit from the Tooth Fairy tonight."

Dad got up**, **and they both had identical expressions of slight confusion.

"Was this expected?"

"Not at all," Dr. Hank assured.

_Hello_! They were ignoring the girl whose teeth were falling out and was standing _right _in front of them!

"Rinse your mouth out in the sink over there and wash your hands, then come back to me," Dr. Hank directed, already totally enthralled with my unfortunate teeth.

I did as I was told, wiping away my tears of panic. After a twenty-minute examination of my mouth, hemuttered something under his breath before asking what _I_ thought **(was?)** the reason for my sudden tooth loss.

"It's _his_ fault!" I accused, pointing to Dad, who was standing with arms crossed in a corner.

"And how, pray tell, is that possible?"

I sucked in a deep breath and then let all my words rush out.

"He wouldn't let me skip any meals! And I wasn't used to eating hardly anything at all! So I over used them because he kept saying I had to eat more and more and now they are all used up and chipping and falling out!"

Sucking in another deep breath, I continued. "And just like tires, they only have a certain amount of wear and tear before they become no good, and now I'm going to have to get dentures! Like an old person! I'm going to be bald and toothless, and I'm not even _twenty_!"

Dr. Hank had the decency to turn away and cover his mouth when he started to laugh. The shaking of his shoulders and the way he was slightly unstable when handling the items in his hands gave him away.

Dad wasn't as polite as he sighed and shook his head right in front of me.

When he had recovered himself, Dr. Hank handed me a few cotton balls to put in my mouth to help soak up and stop the bleeding.

"Your theories are as entertaining as always."

At least the doctor was amused.

I ran my tongue across my teeth (or what there _was_ of them) and wanted to throw myself on the ground and proceed to have a royal hissy fit.

It took an hour, and some minor joking, for everything to be found out and semi-explained. It wasn't really a solid truth, but more like a theory.

Since it came from Dr. Hank, I figured it was more reliable than _my_ wild idea.

Apparently (more like _hopefully_), my body was working on repairing the damage caused by my imprisonment. He admitted that the initial examination had helped him conjure up this theory, and the fact my teeth were now _falling out_ helped solidify this idea.

He could have told me _before_ I had a panic attack and ran through what felt like the entire complex with one hand over my mouth and an apple in the other.

Dr. Hank went on to explain that any further changes, losses, or additions should be reported to him. Dad insisted that he be informed directly after Dr. Hank.

I informed both of them that if anything else was to fall off or out, they'd be able to tell because I would be bawling my eyes out.

It was just after Dad left and right before I was going to go back to my room that the furry doctor just _happened_ to mention someone's name that caused my ears to perk.

"Were you talking to me?" I turned my head slightly to look where the blue lab rat was studying a computer screen.

"Hmm?" he answered in a nonchalant manner. "Oh, I was just talking to myself about the fact that a certain blue-eyed ice cube has been asking about you religiously."

I looked down, my heart shrinking into the cave of my chest. I hadn't seen or heard from Bobby in the week or so I had been here. In truth, I hadn't tried to hunt him down because I just didn't _know_ what to say. Heck, he might even jump me and accuse me of being Mystique again.

Once is amusing, twice is paranoia.

"I find that hard to believe," I muttered.

Mentally, I kicked myself. With all the cotton in my mouth, how the _heck_ did that just slip out! Right after the words snuck out, I shot my eyes over to Dr. Hank, who had a slightly amused smile playing on his lips.

"I assure you, m'dear, our frosty friend is very concerned for your well**-**being."

"Then why haven't I seen him around? Why hasn't he talked to me or _anything_?"

He took off his glasses and used the edge of his lab coat to clean the lens—a totally see-through stall tactic. When I didn't budge from the spot where I was standing after two minutes, he sighed.

"You did _not_ hear this from me." He put his glasses back on the end of his nose. "Our fearless leader has been sending your darling Drake on a steady string of X-related missions in order to prevent the two of you from reuniting. All this is until you are willing to disclose all the dark and deep details of your recent imprisonment."

"…"

When I realized he _wasn't_ just making some type of lame joke, I turned to the nearest wall and lightly began to hit my forehead on it.

"Are you all right, Kookie?"

"Fine," I muttered. "Just figured if I gave myself some minor brain damage I could understand Dad's thinking better."

* * *

"You have to be _freakin_' kidding me!" I shouted, jumping up to my feet and glaring down at the White Witch before me. She was composed, legs crossed, and sipping on some sort of fancy coffee. We were alone in one of the many television rooms located throughout the complex; this one had a kitchenette attached to it with a fully stocked freezer of hot pockets.

I checked out the food situation first thing.

With my teeth giving up and falling out, I should make sure they also supplied me with a blender so I could at least puree the food and suck it up through a straw.

"I assure you, _Kookie_, I am very serious," Emma stated, placing her cup back on the saucer she was holding.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to throw something.

I wanted to hurt Emma.

I wanted to scream while throwing something to hurt Emma.

I couldn't _believe_ what she was saying!

"This sucks! It wasn't like—" I bit my lower lip and fought back the urge to rant to her that it wasn't _my_ fault I was gone for nine months! I would have been here _if_ I could have, and there she sat coldly telling me that I wasn't allowed to work out with the team _or_ train with them _or _go on missions _or_ do anything that normal people didn't do together!

I was basically told to sit, lie down, and stay—like a dog!

"Is this because of what happened between me and that Jillian guy?"

"Julian, darling, his name is Julian**, **and no, it has nothing to do with that."

_That_ was the fight that we got into two weeks ago. I held my own for longer than I thought I could, considering my less-than-top condition. Apparently**,** this guy had the power to move things with his mind, but for some reason he didn't just lock me in a bubble of his power.

Instead, he threw a couch at me.

When we tumbled into a living room area from the hall, I broke several chairs on his force field shield thingy. I only got one 'cheap' shot, and that was at the start of the fight when I slugged him on the side of his high-and-mighty face.

I got him good with that one, he was still sporting a black eye, but all in all, I knew if it was to continue, I would have been beaten and badly. My energy was fading quickly by the time Sam and some guy I couldn't really remember slammed us apart.

Sam actually had to blast Julian out of a window to get him to stop, and the other guy, Piotr, I think, restrained me by wrapping his arms around me from behind and holding me with a steel, vice-like grip against his chest.

Boy oh boy, was Scott mad when he finally made his way down to the place we had torn through. Of course, the scantily clad human bed warmer, Emma, came sashaying right behind him in her stilettos. Who the heck stumbles out of bed in the middle of the night and puts on _high heels_?

Now-now I got the update that I wasn't going to be anything to the X but a proverbial blister on one of their toes! I wasn't allowed to do _anything_!

"Then _why_?" I winced at my tone. Okay, so that came out a bit whinier than I would have liked, and an eyebrow hiked on Emma's face.

"Simple." She put the cup and saucer down on the table and sat up straighter. "You are still in questionable health, and even though, by some random chance, you kept your powers, they too are called into question."

_Dang, dang, dang_, I repeated over and over in my mind. She was picking points I couldn't fight, just like Jilian—Julian, whatever!

With the fire for my anger drenched by reality, I sagged down on the couch and growled in my throat in pure frustration.

"So what _will_ I be doing?" I asked, staring down at the carpet. I ran my hands over my short-haired head.

When I looked up, she had let a smile touch her lips that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

"Scott and I have discussed it at length and decided a more—clerical position would allow you to be acclimated to your new surroundings while Hank continues to evaluate your situation and will give you proper time to recover from your recent ordeal."

She lost me at clerical.

"What do you mean exactly?" I questioned suspiciously, my glare focusing on her cold eyes.

"You would be a personal assistant to Scott and me; there are menial tasks that eat up much of our time that could be used more productively. When neither of us is in need of your abilities, you will fall under the guidance of the other senior staff members." She laced her fingers together and stared at me, waiting for some sort of response, I suppose.

I rolled my eyes and sighed. "Personal assistant?"

"Correct," Emma agreed.

I scoffed, stood up, and ran my hands over my head. I turned away from her and started to pace. "Sounds more like a personal servant."

"A _glorified_ servant," she primly corrected.

I shot her a nasty look that was completely ineffective because she gave a small smirk. I can't believe out of _all_ the super babes Dad knows, he had to be blindly seduced by _her_. It made me sick to my stomach just to think about how many rotations mom must be doing in her grave over the odd match.

I'm glad she wasn't alive to see who her replacement was after she left.

What, really, could I do about this? I didn't want to be thrown out in the streets if I declined to be their live-in slave, but it was—degrading to have to be a subordinate to _Emma_. And who exactly was considered 'senior' staff? If that Julian guy was, I could promise that he was never going to be able to walk without a wiggle after I lodged a boot up his backside.

"_Breakfast is served!_" a chipper voice announced over the PA system. It must be one of the other people who were new to me because I didn't recognize the voice.

"Shall we?" Emma gracefully rose to her feet.

"I lost my appetite," I lied. Without another word, I brushed past her and stalked out the door.

* * *

_"…can be used, if harnessed correctly…"_

_No, no, no._

_Not this again!_

_I can't move. _

_The straps held me down at first, but now it's the cold._

_They are—they are stealing all my warmth._

_What are they saying? I can't quite hear them. I just can't concentrate._

_Dad! Mom! Where are you!_

_There's pain, sharp-so sharp!_

_NO!_

I shot up in my bed, panting and shivering as I sat there.

A nightmare?

No, no it was a memory.

When did that happen?

I groped around my mind, trying to connect the dots to create some sort of timeline, but nothing worked. It was all blank or vague.

"Hey," came Hisako's sleepy voice through the darkness. "Are you okay?"

I glanced over to the other top bunk and could make out her tired, yet concerned face.

"Yeah, sorry. Go back to sleep."

That answer seemed to satisfy her because she snuggled back into her pillow and drifted into dreamland.

Thankfully, Laura was gone off again with Mr. Logan and the others in the super-secret X-Force, so I didn't have to hear her growl at me for waking her up. As for Pixie, she always had her earbuds in with music blasting through them so there is no waking her up with my noises.

When the air conditioner kicked back on, it sent a blast of cool air over my sweat covered skin and instantly made me shiver twice as much. Burrowing under my covers didn't help at all because they too were soaked in my sweat.

It was totally gross.

I crept out of bed, hunted for the sweatshirt that I still hadn't returned to Josh, and slipped it on. There was no use in trying to go back to sleep when I knew memories or nightmares were waiting, and my bed was soaked.

As quietly as I could, I left the room and set out for my normal spot where I crashed when I woke up in the middle of the night.

Thankfully, there was no dude with an attitude around while I was lurking.

New questions started to crop up in my already overstocked brain.

Should I tell someone about the memories? What would they do with the information? Since my rescue was a fluke, were they even trying to stop those lunatics? Maybe they figured they had better things to do?

I passed through the doorway into a small TV room that was supposed to be shared by the younger members of the group. As it was, the boys usually took over the second floor TV room, and the girls claimed the third floor one.

There were a few couches, a decent sized TV, and two end tables. They really didn't go all out when it came to furniture, but it served the purpose of cushioning the backsides of the couch potatoes.

My fuzzy blanket with the snowman design (must have been on clearance after Christmas or something) was waiting for me behind the couch that shared the wall with the windows, and with a smile, I picked it up. I know it's weird, but after being in that cage, I've become accustomed to sleeping on hard floors and being in secure, tight spots.

The 'retreat' I created for myself was a small place between the couches and wall, under one of the end tables. Because the couches were pushed to the very edge of the table, no one could see under it. I felt myself relax as I curled up on the floor and under the cover.

* * *

"_Why_?" I asked for the umpteenth time. I was more than a bit irked when Dad hauled me down beyond the labs to a strange little room with a machine that filled up over half of it.

Even though I wasn't _allowed_ to participate in any exercises or missions, Dad, in all his weird logic, thought it best if I was fitted for a uniform.

That's like buying tires for a car you aren't allowed to drive! Completely pointless.

"Just because you aren't currently able to perform on the same level as everyone else, doesn't mean you shouldn't be prepared." Scott explained it like it was the most normal thing in the world. "What if someone attacks our new home?"

I rolled my eyes. "I promise you that if the building is attacked, the _last_ thing on my mind would be a change of wardrobe."

At least that got a small smirk from Dad as he continued to type in a variety of commands into the machine's keyboard. He had told me that this doohickey was a clothes synthesizer, new and improved.

I didn't really remember the old and outdated one.

"Get in," Scott ordered.

I bit back my anger at this whole situation and the ridiculous need for these catsuits and did as I was told.

"Remove the robe once inside, and keep your hands by your sides."

I blushed a deep red as I stepped on the machine's platform. After the doors slid shut, I dropped the robe and threw it into a corner. It took all I had to keep my arms from crossing over my chest in some sort of redeveloped modesty.

It was rather unsettling the way it popped and hissed to life. A bright blue light started at my toes and traveled up my body slowly. Then there was a pause, and with my next breath, several different things whirled, zipped, and popped around me.

"What the heck!" I yelped as the walls seemed to close in on me.

I let loose a few choice words about how 'friendly' the machine was getting, and after what seemed like an eternity and not just two minutes, the doors slid back open.

I felt like I looked like a cat that was just thrown into the middle of a dog pen.

"Come on, let me check it."

With shaking legs, I managed to wobble out until I was in front of him.

"You hate me don't you?" My voice squeaked in the middle, which only added to the pathetic state I was in.

I would have bet that he rolled his eyes at me but instead just scrutinized my outfit.

"Take a look," he suggested, stepping out of the way of the only mirror in the room.

It wasn't bright blue and yellow like they used to put trainees in, but it wasn't the black and red bathing suit terror from before either.

The main color was a gray-blue, and the piping (it's _all_ about the details—as Daisy Mae would've said) was dark blue. It was two pieces and wasn't something that looked like I was a transferred badass from the Las Vegas strip.

"Well?"

It wasn't bad; I'd give him that if I wasn't still freaked out from having a machine manhandle me. So, in typical Kerry fashion, I had to think of something to say that was a bit more deserving of a deep sigh and an eye roll.

I gave a small, faux-innocent smile as I looked him in the eyes by looking in the reflection.

"She neutered you, didn't she?"

Ah, there it was, the deep and long-suffering sigh.

"_Kerry_."

"What kind of _man_ knows _fashion_ and isn't _gay_?"

He crossed his arms and shook his head slowly. It seemed he was striking the 'ugh' pose a lot more than I remembered him doing before.

"You just can't say you like it or don't; always with the comments."

I quirked an eyebrow at the mirror and turned around to face him.

In truth, I was a brat because I still didn't know how to act around him. It wasn't just because it was _Dad_; it was because there was _Dad_ and _Emma_. Mr. Logan had offered advice not too long after Dad broke the news to me.

"_It was between Slim, Jean, and Emma. Just stay outta it."_

That was his advice he conjured up between gulps of beer and puffs from his cigar.

Well, Jean was my _mother_ (maybe not biologically but adoptive and in the eyes of the law and in my heart, she was my mom), so it made it my business.

"Thanks," I finally grumbled. Amazing how fast my thoughts could cause my emotions to plummet. "Can I change now?"

"Not quite yet." Scott didn't explain anything as he turned and exited the room.

When he came back, who he had with him made me want to cry and smile.

My voice escaped me, and confusion wrapped me up like a mummy. I looked between the two men, clearly looking for answers that weren't there waiting to be read like a billboard.

"I'll leave you two alone for a few minutes," Dad said. He turned to leave, a mask of indifference over his face.

We both watched him go, and I couldn't help but give a small eye roll at the fact that the door didn't automatically slide shut after him. That man would _never_ trust me alone with this guy.

"Hey, Kerry," Bobby started with a small, lopsided smile. He wasn't threatening me, but he wasn't coming any closer either. Nervously, he kept switching the bag he brought with him into the room from hand to hand. The small bag he brought into the room with him, he kept switching from hand to hand nervously.

"Hi, Bobby." The smile spread over my face (lips closed so I wouldn't show my lack of some teeth) before I could stop it. When he saw me smile, he let his own show.

I don't know who moved first, but I do know we had the same thing in mind as we came together in a tight embrace. Even if he _was_ the Iceman, he was warm and real.

There is no way to really described what it's like to be back with (or close to or at least not being accused of being a shape-shifter by) someone you really, really care about. When it is family, you know deep down they will always welcome you back and your place is pretty much assured for eternity.

When it deals with significant others, there is no promise of a position at all when time passes and you're away from each other. That whole thing about absence making the heart grow fonder is a buncha bull.

The heart might grow fonder, but the eye usually wanders.

My heart grabbed my totally baffled brain and whirled it around, giggling like a school girl.

"I'm so sorry about before." He said as he tightened his arms around me. "I just didn't—I couldn't believe—"

I gave a soft laugh and pulled away enough to look him in the eyes.

"I understand, trust me. I'm still waiting to wake up." I could have stayed like that _all_ day, but Bobby pulled away. He scooped up the bag I hadn't even realized he dropped on his way to me and held it out to me.

I took it from him and opened it up.

I saw another familiar blue face, and I hurried to snatch him from the bag's belly.

"Stitch!" I happily hugged on my furry blue alien like a small child might. I didn't think I'd ever see this little guy again! Truth be told, I hardly ever _thought_ about him while I was gone. I did a small turn, and then glanced back at Bobby.

I held Stitch away from me, studying his face. There was no doubt this was the same one I had back in Westchester. His left ear was slightly singed from being too close to the fireplace at Christmas, there was a spot on his belly from when Mr. Warren dropped a Maraschino cherry from his sundae, and there were even the same scratches on his nose from Lucifer (the dumb cat they got me) when he thought Stitch needed to die.

"You kept it all this time?" My mouth was smarter than my brain (which was still recovering from the impromptu dance my heart made it do).

"Yeah," he admitted, running one hand through his hair and scratching the base of his skull. It was a nervous habit of his that I had picked up on long ago. Even if I didn't' know about the habit, there was a tattle tell light pink blush kissing both his cheeks.

It made me smile.

"I thought Dad was keeping you away from me?"

"He was." Bobby's eyes met mine, and I could see his expression darken slightly. "But yesterday he called and told me to be here by ten."

"I wonder—"

"_Ahem_."

Both of us shot our eyes over to where Dad was now standing in the doorway.

"I hope this reunion was more pleasant than the last one?" Dad had a small grin on his lips.

"Like you've never kidnapped, handcuffed, and gotten arrested with someone you thought was a shape-shifter wearing your thought-to-be-dead girlfriend's face." Bobby made a production of rolling his eyes and crossing his arms like the events were as common as acne.

Dad and Bobby got into a small back-and-forth about it, but my curiosity wouldn't let me be quiet until the Stooges were finished.

"Why now?" I asked Dad, catching both men's attention. "Why after almost a _month_ of keeping us apart—"

All humor drained from his face as he once again slipped into the X-men gear.

"Because I figured you'd need the support of someone you trusted," Cyclops replied.

I glanced at Bobby, who glanced at me, shrugged, and then we both looked over at Dad.

Suspicions like firecrackers flared above my head, and I could feel my body starting to react to the instant stress.

"Why?"

"Due to the threat that the _Redeemers_ present, we have to shut them down before they hurt anyone else." My lips started to tingle and my gums went numb. "We need you to go back to the ones who were holding you."


	4. Sweet Sadness

Why Me?

Chapter 4

* * *

_Authoress' notes:_ Chapter 5 is already 13 pages long and growing daily! : D I just have to figure out what the current roster is for the X team since I don't really buy the single books anymore. I found it _much_ more economical to buy the graphic novel instead. I say that but I _do_ occasionally peek and does anyone else think that Hope Summers is a little too Mary-Sue? I know, I know, I have all the nerve in the world but honestly, super powered savior? Ugh.

_Special thanks_: **ZeldaAddict42 **_is the most wonderful, magnanimous person to ever aid me! She is the __Why Me?__ beta-reader who tackles this in its raw form and fires it into something grammatically more pleasing! :D :D lovelovelove!_

_

* * *

_

"W-what?" I whispered out as my body started to tremble.

"You didn't tell me you were going to say _that_!" Bobby shouted. I felt his hands on my shoulders, but I couldn't tell you much of what happened after that.

Fear, like air, was everywhere, and the more I tried to deny it, the deeper the breaths. Stitch hit the floor as I slowly covered my ears with my hands, my head down as I started to shake it from side to side in a silent protest.

Tears blurred my world as images from the past took over.

The cages, screams—the pain and blood.

_My_ blood splattered on the floor as I tried to get out.

Blood covering my hands where the wounds bled that I had gotten from them. Things, scary things, I couldn't even _remember_ and I didn't want to remember.

They wanted to send me _back_. They were going to send me back and let me _rot_ down there.

Scott said my rescue was a fluke, a chance happening due to a bad lead about a different problem. Maybe he didn't want me around at all.

He stopped looking for me.

My mind swirled, and my past and present smeared together in one undivided mess.

Outside of the memories, I heard nothing. However, the needle being shoved into my skin was real enough to jolt me out of the haze if only for a second.

It was only then I realized how light headed I was and how quickly I was breathing. Concern colored everyone's faces.

_When did Dr. Hank get here,_ I absently wondered.

I could barely comprehend the few soothing words Dr. Hank said before I was thrown over the Sandman's shoulder and dumped into Dreamland.

"_Pool party!" _Pixie shouted as she burst through the door of our bedroom.

In surprise, Hisako jumped back in her seat while I was _slightly_ less graceful as I completed a very unwanted back flip off the top bunk.

_THUNK_.

"Ouch," I muttered, rubbing the back of my head.

"What are you talking about?"

_No, I'm okay. Thanks for asking. _I rolled my eyes and clambered to my feet.

Pixie (Megan) was already digging through her drawers, clothes flying over her shoulder as she hummed and bounced on her toes.

When she found whatever she was looking for, she whirled around, with a wide grin and eyes nearly sparkling.

"They _finally_ finished the pool! Mr. Summers said it was okay to go in! Which means," she paused as her grin turned into a giddy school girl's smile. She proudly held up the top of her swimsuit and announced, "Bikini time!"

Hisako turned a lovely pink shade, and I covered my face with the hood of the sweatshirt.

"Come _on_!" Pixie prompted, grabbing my arm and shaking me a bit to make sure she had my attention. "It'll be fun!"

"I will wear my one piece; I refuse to wear a bikini just because," Hisako stated.

"What about you, Kookie?" Megan questioned as she started to strip.

I pulled back my hood enough to give her a 'yeah right' look.

"It'll be fun! _Iceman_ will be there." She stopped changing clothes long enough to nudge me with her elbow and give me a wink. "Wearing less than he normally does even!"

I felt my cheeks burn like mini sunspots.

"The man wears a _Speedo_ on a day-to-day basis, how could he wear less? A man-thong? " Bad jokes were one way to try and weasel out of an embarrassing situation.

"Whatever." I could _hear_ her smile in her voice. "Besides, you've been holed up in here for, like, a week."

Her wings fluttered a bit as she took off her bra and slipped her bikini top over her head and then around her back.

A pang hit my chest when I saw her wings dance like that.

"And your point would be?" I muttered.

"It can't be a self-esteem issue," Hisako pointed out, slipping out of her own tee-shirt. "You're supermodel _skinny_ and strong as ten guys."

It wasn't a body issue (for once).

It was two different things.

It was an avoiding-dad-at-all-costs thing and hide-the-wicked-scars-on-my-back thing.

Ever since Dad let Bobby and me actually _see_ each other again and then promptly told me that he wanted me to go _back_ to the hell hole I'd come from, I had been in my dorm room as much as possible. I had slipped back into covert Kookie, dodging and ducking the man like he was an old boyfriend or something.

Meanwhile, Bobby and I kept in touch through our cell phones.

It was as if he _knew_ he'd come up in the conversation because my phone started to vibrate on Laura's bed (I had dropped it there from my top bunk and was attempting to retrieve it right before Pixie came in, and thus the reason for my inglorious flip).

"It's from _him_, isn't it?" Megan teased, flipping her pink hair over a shoulder and dramatically batting her eyelashes.

Ignoring her, I picked up my phone and made it light up.

/ _The pool is open. Coming? /_

My lip twitched as I read the message. After I hit the 'reply' button, my phone vanished from my hands before I could type out my response.

"Lemme handle this!" Megan's fingers were faster than my response as I stood by for a second too long because by the time I tried to grab the phone back, she'd already sent the message.

_/ Yup! U better not be n ice form cuz I'm so hot n my 2 piece, u'll melt n2 a puddle of drool. /_

My mouth dropped open, and Megan giggled at my reaction.

"I—how—why!" I fumbled out.

"Like that isn't what you _wanted_ to say," she teased.

Hisako read the messages over my shoulder and broke into a fit of laughter.

"I'd never say anything like that! Or think like that!" Partial lie. Okay, I _am_ a teenager, I do have hormones.

Pixie grabbed her towel, flung it over her shoulder and turned to me before she left. "Then you'd better go to the pool and set him straight."

Hisako encouraged me to go, and soon I was left alone in the room. I bit my lip and decided to delve into my bag of stuff.

Yes, I was _still_ too lazy to put my things in the closet or in a drawer. There wasn't really _room_ for four girls in this room _plus_ all their things. What _was_ Scott thinking?

It took some digging, but I finally unearthed the ghastly bathing suit the salesperson had picked out when Dad had taken me shopping. I didn't even really look at it until I was back at Mr. Warren's house.

It was a two piece, and for some unknown reason, it had ruffles on the back of the bottom part. The top was neon orange and glittery with buttons and bows.

What about me said that I could _possibly_ be the neon orange, glitter and ruffles type girl!

My phone buzzed again.

/_ :D Can't wait. You should stop by my room first to approve of your swimwear. No promises we'll ever get to the pool /_

I stuck my tongue out at the phone and tossed it onto my bed.

As I held up the top, my stomach fainted from disbelief as I had forgotten that there were _no_ straps. It was like a friggin' bright orange band-aid.

Pushing down the voice that was repulsed and shocked as it asked if I was _seriously_ going to try that _thing_ on, and unfortunately, I did. I tried it on.

So it wasn't as band-aid-ish as I had originally thought. It was more like a strapless bra.

A _push-up,_ strapless bra.

I was just glad thatit wasn't white; Emma might have wanted it to be her next uniform for missions.

The bottom _on_ wasn't much better than the top. In fact, it was equally as horrid.

The ruffles were just the start. There was this little belt thingy that did _nothing_ but hold up this freaking big belt buckle that had the maker's logo stamped on it. The belt buckle covered more than the actual suit did.

Grabbing my towel, my very, very _large_ towel, I wrapped it around myself and with my dignity locked away in the far corner of my mind, I headed toward the pool.

* * *

"Are you actually wearing anything under that?" Hisako asked after she swam to the edge of the pool. I was still wrapped in my towel, sitting in one of the chairs by the pool. I didn't have enough guts to actually _show_ _off_ the swimsuit while I was wearing it.

"_Yes,_" I answered firmly, pulling the towel tighter around me.

I was wrapped up tighter than a burrito.

_Everyone_ was in the pool or sitting around the side. It was an indoor pool, and the walls of the room were made of thick glass that reached about twenty to thirty feet high.

Even Dr. Hank was doing a cannonball off the diving board.

"Come on, Kookie," Bobby tried to persuade me. He had gotten out of the pool when I showed up and had taken up residence in the chair next to me ever since. It was only five minutes, but it felt like _months_.

The weirdest thing was—I didn't know what to _class_ Bobby as.

We never really ever broke up so we couldn't be exes.

He never really said we were still together, so I guess it wasn't like I could claim that either.

Were we just friends then?

Or was this a soap operaish pick-up-where-you-left-off thing?

"I came so I wouldn't be accused of being anti-social _again_." It wasn't entirely true. I didn't really care about the swimsuit as much as I did my _scars_ and the thin state of my body. I think I could play my ribs like a xylophone.

My teeth were falling out, my hair was incredibly short, my body was still too thin for my tastes, and they wanted me to parade around the pool like I was _proud_ of those factors? Ha!

Bobby bopped me on the head lightly.

"Come on, I know you're always bashful about showing your body, but –"

"I can't." I didn't want to explain it. I turned my head away, feeling the sadness trying to edge into my current state.

"Come on," Bobby said. He grabbed my hand that was holding the lower half of my towel shut and pulled me up. Without a word, he headed off toward the locker room area.

"Where are you going with her, Drake?" Dad asked loudly.

"We'll be back," Bobby responded and then added with an evil little grin, "eventually."

"Stay away from the street corners," Mr. Logan added. I think Bobby froze his beer solid because when Mr. Logan went to take a sip, he started to cuss and glared at us.

"Five minutes," Scott warned, "and then I'm coming in after you."

I rolled my eyes as we disappeared into the male locker room. Bobby made a quick search of the room, and when it turned up empty, he locked the door.

Yeah, that didn't make me nervous.

He straddled a bench and crossed his arms over his chest, blue eyes staring at me.

"Take it off."

My eyes enlarged, my mind was building a fire to burn him on, and I shrank away from him, tightening my hold on the towel.

"You _do_ realize I still have my strength don't you?" I squeaked out. He tipped his head to the side.

"Take it off, Kookie."

"I was arrested _once_ by mistake, keep this up and the next time will be for beating the stupid out of you."

"Take it off, Summers."

"Okay, fine. Murder."

His eyes rolled as he let out a sigh.

I felt even shyer about being alone with him in a locked room, since he was half dressed and I was-well, just as half dressed.

"Take it off," he ordered again, and I stuck my tongue out at him.

"I see we have to do this the _hard_ way." With a wicked smile, he stood up and started toward me.

I hurriedly backed up to the wall.

"Stay right there!" I warned.

"Or what?" Bobby gave a playful smirk as he slowed but kept coming closer. "You'll throw your towel at me?"

My mouth opened to say what I would do when I realized that, horror of horrors, he was right. My mind was screaming as it ran around my head with its hands on its face as it realized I had really _nothing_ to defend myself with but the beloved towel.

Then again I could always spit out one of my loose teeth and lob it at his head. It might puncture his inflated ego.

I let out a whimper as he blocked off my side exits by icing the floor around me.

"Bobby-" I begged him.

He put a hand on either side of my body, further trapping me. My brain scooted back in my skull as far as it could and then sprouted yellow feathers and a beak.

All I needed to prove I was a chicken was to lay an egg.

"What is going on, Kookie?" he asked in a near-whisper. Bobby made sure that he kept my eyes forward by touching my forehead with his.

I think my brain wet itself and it got in my throat because suddenly I had to swallow hard to even try to speak.

"N-nothing."

"Bull. You are normally shy about your body, but not like this. Not with me." He almost purred the last part, and my face lit up like a street light.

We might never have gone all the way but—well, I still had hormones back then like I do now and well—uhm, I don't know how to say this, but I _can_ say that clothes always, _always_ stayed on!

Not always in _place_—just the thoughts of what we _used_ to do made my cheeks flare a lovely red color. I could have burst into flames, and not the Phoenix kinda flames either, like the permanently 'here lies me, rest in peace' type flames.

"I—I just don't wanna," I said lamely.

Bobby lightly bumped me on the forehead with his. He pulled back slightly so that we made eye contact, and I just couldn't take it. I turned my head away from him, the heat of my blush rising into a raging bonfire.

When I slowly turned back to him, I felt pain and joy.

Did I mention how attached I still was to this guy?

Even if his hair was still dripping with water from the pool, even if I didn't know what the heck we _were_ relationship-wise, even if I was self-conscious about my bony body and lack of teeth, he still got to me in a way no one else could.

When he chuckled at my avoidance of eye contact, I felt goosebumps crop up on my arms and on the back of my neck.

As if that wasn't enough, he leaned in more until his mouth was right next to my ear. I wasn't sure if I was going to start shaking or giggling wildly, but I knew something was going to erupt from me in a very unexpected way if he kept this up!

"Don't you trust me?" Bobby whispered into my ear.

"I—" Then I swallowed hard.

He took this as an encouragement, putting his forearms on the wall, and our bodies were closer than they had been since I'd been back. I could feel the heat from his skin on mine.

The urge to either push him away or grab him and kiss him, hard, started to bubble up in a very dangerous way.

I turned my face away, looking at the door, wondering if five minutes had passed or not. Where was Dad? Shouldn't he be busting down the door to save my honor or something!

Being distracted was more than Bobby could stand as I heard him sigh.

I clamped my eyes shut. I wanted to trust him. I wanted things to be better than they were before. I didn't want to tiptoe around issues and create problems that neither of us wanted to believe were there.

Which meant that someone had to take the first step out on the barb-wire, and that would have to be me.

"What?"

"I—I said okay." I kept my eyes shut, and with what little strength I could manage to find, I bundled up my courage in my stomach and held on to it tightly as I allowed my precious towel to fall to the ground.

I waited. I didn't know what to think when I didn't hear a laugh or a noise of disgust. I knew my body wasn't that great. It was even _more_ evident when you compared it to the super models that he called his teammates.

"Kerry." I didn't have the guts to look at him. My body was so tightly wound that my muscles began to ache from holding my arms straight down by my sides and my stomach taut.

I felt his hair tickle my cheek as he whispered my name again, this time almost in my ear.

As rigid as I was, him being so close and his breath on my neck made me shiver.

My eyes flew open when I felt his hair sliding down my neck, and if I could, I would have climbed up the wall when I felt his lips on the hollow of my throat.

"You look _beautiful._" He breathed out. "Always _beautiful_, Kerry."

There was _nooo_ hiding the blush that covered my face and spread like a rash down my neck and across my chest. Tears started to burn my eyes like smoke had just been blown in them.

I was just trying to remember to breathe when I felt a sudden jerk on my bikini top.

"Wh-what are you _doing_!" My heart rate smashed through the roof and was on a direct path to the moon.

I would have glared at him, but I had to hold my chin up because he was _still_ at my throat, and then I heard him give a nervous laugh.

"It's stuck." Bobby could barely lift his head to look up at me.

"_WHAT!"_

"My necklace is hooked on your top." I could see the tips of his ears start to turn red. Good, at least I wasn't the only one who was embarrassed at this point.

"Then take off your necklace!"

"I can't, it was welded," he admitted, jerking up lightly, testing to see how caught he was.

I yelped as I felt my bathing top move with his motions and barked that he stop.

"You're going to have to take your top off."

"_Excuse_ me?" He was hooked on one of the bows that were sewed between the cups of the top. To any onlookers, it would look like he was burying his nose into my chest.

Then I'd have to kill him and whoever might see us.

Not to say I wasn't going to _kill_ him for making such a suggestion.

"It's either you lose your top or we're going to have to ask for help. You pick." If I wasn't ready to dissolve into a fit of panicked tears, I would have _sworn_ the man was _amused_ by this fiasco.

"Why can't I just rip the necklace off?" I suggested.

"Because it was a pain in the bank account to get the more durable metal _and_ to have it welded on."

"It isn't worth my modesty!"

Then the one thing I'd been hoping for only a moment before happened, someone came through the door.

Actually, she came _under_ the door-as a silver puddle of goo.

That silver puddle took the form of a girl.

That girl took one look at Bobby and me, and her eyes got big. Before we could say anything, she shouted out.

"Mr. Summers, Mr. Drake has his nose in her boobs!"

* * *

"Kookie, are you even paying attention?"

"Yeah," I replied automatically.

In truth, I was wondering if shoving a sharpened pencil in my ear would induce enough brain damage to get me off the hook as _Emma's_ flunkie.

Emma gave me a skeptical stare, but then she started to point out various things about the office space that I'd be forced to occupy.

There was a wall full of frosted windows, elegant paintings, dark, and tasteful furniture, and then there was me who was cross-legged on the floor.

The Wonder-bra Queen strutted effortlessly in her three inch heels and tailored white suit as she went over all my future duties. Even as she tossed her head from side to side, not a single strand of bleach-blonde hair moved.

While _I_ on the other hand was sporting hot pink Cookie Monster sleep pants, Josh's on-loan sweatshirt, and Bugs Bunny slippers. My hair was the crowning disglory. I hadn't brushed it, and it was sticking up like I went swimming with a toaster before I came here.

Of course, what did they_ expect_ me to look like after Emma had Miss Rogue haul me from the breakfast table with a bagel hanging outta my mouth?

"Do you understand?" Emma's tone was sharper than her horns.

"Sure do!" I replied with a smile.

I met her eyes, and it was only _then_ that I noticed they were narrowed.

Her lips twitched into a frown for a nanosecond before they returned to the flat line of indifference.

_Sucks 'cause you can't read my mind, right, _I thought smugly on the inside. On the outside, I just continued to smile.

Emma turned her plastic-surgery-perfected nose away and merely said that I needed to start as soon as I had pried myself from the floor and dressed in more appropriate attire befitting someone who worked for not only the X-Men but for Scott and her.

"I'll break out the whip," I mumbled as I left.

* * *

"For the last time," I huffed out, "it wasn't like it _seemed_."

"You were standing there half naked. How could that be misunderstood?" Chris demanded as we were walking around the grounds later that week.

He had been brought back from a mission with the silver-puddle girl, named Mercury, and a few others the same day the pool had opened. They went to the pool and then, after Bobby and I were found, Chris lit up like a firecracker and pretty much just fried all the electronics in the room.

"I was already 'half naked' even with the entire swimsuit on." I felt the blush burn my cheeks again. "Bobby's necklace got _stuck_ on the top. When Dad decided to blast in the door, Bobby freaked and pulled up too fast and ripped it off of me."

"What the hell was he doing so close to your chest that he would even _get_ caught on your top?"

I groaned and rolled my eyes. I didn't want this conversation, _again_.

Dad _knew_ the truth because Bobby, after he escaped the wrath of Chris, demanded that Emma read his memory and show Dad exactly what happened.

She agreed and Dad learned, but for some reason he wanted to humiliate me further because Chris wasn't allowed to know the details. Chris was still threatening to fry Bobby in the next puddle that the Ice Boy stepped in.

It took two days for me to be coaxed out of my room and back into public. I didn't care how much I wanted to talk to Chris or straighten out the rumor about what had been going on in the locker room; I just couldn't face anyone.

It was bad enough that Megan and Hisako weren't letting it drop until they had what they thought was the entire back story to the locker room incident.

"It doesn't matter; he wasn't doing anything like you're thinking, so could we please drop it, and could you _please_ stop shorting out his car?" Yes, pettiness was still as popular as it ever was among the mutant 'heroes'.

"_Fine_, but if I see him doing that again, I'm not sending flowers to the funeral," Chris grumbled.

I gave a small smile and shook my head.

He was just as stubborn and sarcastic as before, but there was definitely a new maturity about Chris. For one, he didn't start just calling me names and letting us fall into that old song and dance of jabs and low-blows. Although the latest mess I was in certainly would make it hard to believe his temper was less touchy than it used to be.

If you ignored the death-to-Bobby campaign he was leading.

Chris hadn't changed in personality so much as he had physically.

First thing I noticed was that his hair was cut shorter. It was longer in the front and faded into a shaved area in the back. His shoulders seemed wider, or maybe it was because the boy had 'filled out' over the months I was gone. No more just ragged t-shirts and dirty jeans; the shirts were neater and lacking a band or computer game logo, and his jeans were clean and _fit_ better to his body.

To put it simply, Chris had turned into a total drool inducing hottie.

It was _so_ hard to keep my eyes straight and not indulge in the new eye-candy walking beside me.

Tell me I wasn't being stupid. This was _Chris_.

What was even _worse_ is that he seemed totally oblivious to the fact he was looking so good.

And here I was looking like a stick with a fuzzy patch of hair and missing teeth. It would just figure just when he is peak of hotness, I looked like three day old, maggot covered dog vomit.

…Ew, that was a bit too much imagery for me.

For the sake of privacy, he decided that we should 'catch up' by walking into the woods right after dinner. The sun was just starting to set, so everything had a romantic glow (yes, I am being a girly-girl but _honestly_ I wouldn't be female if I didn't get girly-girl with Chris the gorgeous beside me). I didn't have a problem with this; I just hoped Sparky knew the way back.

Then again, I wouldn't be mind being lost in the woods with him at that point.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ I mentally yelled at myself. _This is __**Chris**__!_

"I didn't believe them when they told me you were found," Chris admitted out of the blue.

"Huh?" He spoke English, Kerry! Sheesh, use that wad of gum you call a brain! "Why not?" Oh, sure, that was just _so_ much better.

Those denim blue eyes glanced over at me, and I felt my cheeks flare. The boy was drop dead gorgeous now, and in the light of the setting sun just amplified that fact.

"I didn't want to get my hopes up." I have to say that his flat out and seemingly honest answer really touched me. "But when Surge started to talk about 'the new Summers' girl' and how she got into a fight with Julian right after she moved in—"

"_He_ started it!" I yelped defensively, stomping a foot to make my point.

Chris only grinned.

I crossed my arms and muttered under my breath. "Well, he _did_."

He laughed and roughed up my hair.

"Still a brat."

I turned, stuck out my tongue, and stomped off in an overly dramatic way.

I was only going to go a few steps, and then stop but what Chris said next froze my entire body and made my heart black out in disbelief.

"I really missed you, Ker."

My natural reaction was to reply with some sassy sting, but my brain fainted again, and my common sense desperately tried to revive it.

So the next step was to deflect the comment with humor.

"Well I'm back, so your aim should be better." I didn't even turn around. I couldn't. I folded my arms behind my head and pretended to be taking in the sunset.

On the outside, I was the picture of cool collectiveness.

On the inside, I could picture my inner self balled up in a fetal position, rocking back and forth while muttering incoherent words.

"Daisy's dead."

Still.

Perfectly still.

No words, no thoughts, no breathing.

My mouth moved, but no words came out. It was only the burning of my lungs that forced me to take in a breath.

My arms, like lead, fell to my sides.

Chris didn't come up from behind me. I felt my fingers go numb, but tears only threatened to fall, they wouldn't come.

I knew better than to ask what; I didn't want to hear him say it again. Things change, everyone changes. Isn't that the theory of evolution pushed down to the rusted nails?

Adapt or die?

"When?" My voice didn't break on that one word, thankfully.

"On M-day; well, it was _because_ of M-Day." M-day is what the X-people have come to call the day when 90-something percent of mutants became depowered.

Tears threatened to fall as my vision blurred, and I heard him move to my side.

"She had been going around to different hospitals, collecting diseases, cancers, and all that stuff." His voice wasn't flat like I thought it would be; it was tender, almost like a calm lake reflecting the sky but never feeling the warmth. "She," he gave a sad scoff, "was feeling useless because Josh didn't need to store up things like she did, so she was going overboard on it."

My eyes closed, and images of the round face brunette bloomed in my head like weeds in a garden.

"No one knew they didn't have their powers until the next _morning_." The lake started to ripple, breaking the image of strength. "She went to sleep that night and just—never woke up. All those sicknesses ate her up in one night."

I tightened my jaw, trying my best to not cry but when I remembered her having her powers turned off once before and the near death because of it; I knew it wasn't some sick joke.

Before I knew it, I was wrapped in Chris' arms as I had my hands clutching his shirt. I was bawling like a baby, not just for Daisy, but because this was the first time I cried in front of someone and didn't feel like I should just be forced to 'suck it up'.

Things change.

I just wasn't there to go through it with everyone else.

Everything that had happened in the span of nine to ten months to _them_ was being dumped on me in a matter of _weeks_.

Somewhere in my broken heart, I just knew there'd be more.

* * *

I moved the meat closer with my fork to the weird orange-purple sauce that the kernels of corn were swimming in.

When I felt it was close enough, I stabbed at it with the knife.

"You know, _Kookie_," Emma started, stopping to sip her wine and to give me a chance to look up at her, "I believe the food was dead long before they served it to you."

I was stuck at a delightful little dinner with Dad, Emma, and a handful of others at some seafood place near the bay.

There was a playful debate going around the table on whether or not the fish and clams were actually imported or not. Someone had suggested the cooks robbed a pet store.

I sighed, dropped my fork on my plate, and leaned back in my chair.

It had been almost three days since Chris bombed me with the bad news about Daisy, and my heart was still hurting.

It wasn't just her. It was everything, and I had no way of dealing with it.

Was I allowed to sulk in my room? Nope. I had to be forced to socialize with happy people.

"…and then he ended up just throwing Logan at the beer instead." They started to laugh, and I started to inspect my bangs for split ends.

Emma sat between Dad and me. I couldn't even make eye contact with Scott yet. Every time I tried, I was smacked with the fear he was going to say he was going to send me back.

"You're not hungry?" the big guy, uh, Piotr, (I think?) questioned as he placed his napkin on his plate.

"No, not really." I was. I mean, _I_ _should_ be, but I couldn't make myself care enough to actually _eat_. I really hadn't eaten since Chris told me.

After I cried my eyes sore in his arms, he told me he was still on assignment but gave me his cell phone number. He had been so sweet and comforting that I had kissed him on the cheek without thinking about it.

I didn't think anything of it until I saw him go fire engine red in embarrassment.

"What about some dessert!" It wasn't a question to Hisako as she smiled with happiness at the promise of chocolaty goodness.

Bobby leaned over and whispered, "Want me to spoon feed you?"

Somehow, it just wasn't funny to be treated like a child at this time. In true _me_ fashion, I rolled my eyes.

"Are you going to pretend that the spoon is a plane while you're at it?"

He leaned back, a confused look in his eyes for a split second before Julian said something to the group.

"We're heading to the boardwalk."

Scott waved him off, saying that the _adults_ would go have a drink while the _kids_ entertained themselves.

Almost half the table got up to leave with Julian, and before he followed them, Julian turned back to the table and stared at me.

"You coming or not, twiggy?"

I glared at him.

"Go on, Kookie," Scott prompted, and I forgot myself for a moment and turned to look at him. My eyes met sunglasses, and I ducked my head and said I couldn't.

"Enjoy yourself," Emma said in a hushed voice as she slipped a bill into the pouch of my sweatshirt (okay, into _Josh's_ sweatshirt).

I knew when I wasn't wanted.

With sluggish movements, I trailed behind the group of 'kids'. They were split off into two groups. Julian led one, and the other had some dark haired girl with metal on her forearms. I think they had called her Surge while she was in uniform and Nora or something like that while we were at dinner.

"So, Kookie," the silver-skinned girl started. She is the one who helped blow the whole locker room thing _way_ out of proportion. Her name was Mercury. Wonder if they were going to have a Mars or Jupiter before long. "You really knew Bolt when he was training?"

I blinked. "Who's Bolt?"

She looked shocked and so did a few others.

"You _are_ Blight, aren't you?"

"I—_was_." Thanks for rubbing _that_ into my gaping wound on my heart.

"So you trained with _Chris_?" Rockslide finished.

"Uh, yeah, but who is Bolt?"

"Chris' codename, duh."

I blinked, and for the first time since I had cried my eyes out, a smile twitched on my lips.

"Didn't Disney make a movie—"

"Yes!" They chorused with exasperated voices.

"But only _after_ he changed his name," Megan clarified.

The talks went on, not requiring much input from me, about how great Chris was. Surge said she and Chris were close because he had similar powers to hers and really helped her when she was starting out.

"Games!" Hisako pointed out, "I am going to go over there, and I still haven't won that Scooby-Doo doll."

"Because you suck," Julian, ever positive, deduced.

"And _you_ cheat!" Josh shot back.

* * *

Two days later, I had discovered two very important things.

First, never be late for your job that started at the butt-crack of dawn.

Second, putting an ink pen in the electric pencil sharpener isn't the smartest idea.

It was especially stupid when Emma happened to be reading something and had her back to me, leaning on the edge of the desk about two inches from the sharpener.

Evidently, getting red ink on Armani pants was a very, _very_ bad thing.

Of course**, **Dad had to point out to her that she got something on her pants, and then he winced noticeably.

Guess she sent something rather loud to his mind.

She told Scott, who had innocently walked into the office at that time, to _handle_ me, and she click-clacked out of the door.

He told me to try to get along with Emma, and I rolled my eyes.

After Emma came back in a different pair of white pants and totally ignoring me, she slammed their office door shut but not before telling me not to disturb Scott _or_ her.

That's when the phone decided to take on a life of its own.

In the days that I had been chained to the desk during the day (not technically, only _figuratively_-so far) I had also learned to _hate_ the phone.

It came to life for the millionth time that day, and I glared at it, daring it to continue to ring and it did, with a bit of smugness to its tone, too.

Sighing, I cleared my throat, picked up the index card with the 'proper' way I had to answer the phone, and then I, guess what, actually answered the phone.

Another few hours and a short lunch later, I shredded the card and made sure the door to Scott and Emma's office was securely shut when I answered the phone again.

"Thank you for calling Pain 'N Stain, the masochistic love motel, your pain is our pleasure. Would you like to hear about our fire and ice special?"

Dial tone.

Guess they hung up.

Then my phone started to vibrate. If it wasn't for the glorious invention of internet games and text messages, I would have tried to stick a fork in the electrical socket by now.

The message was from Chris. I couldn't help but give a small smile at it. As bad as it seems, I was actually talking through text to Chris more than Bobby in the past week. Bobby was busy playing superhero-on-call and also accountant boss down in the business department of this place.

* * *

"_Yes!_" I screamed out before turning and launching a full frontal hug attack at Dr. Hank.

"Whoa!" He got out a second before I flung myself at him. He caught me and I clung to him, squealing like a pig.

I pulled away from him, turned back to the glowing number that had made me so happy, and bounced on my toes like a three year old expecting candy.

In a week, this was the _first_ time I was actually able to smile.

"This wasn't a reaction I would expect from any female." Dr. Hank's smile widened as I shot my arms up and danced around in joy.

"But who _else_ is so bony and in need of _thirteen_ pounds!"

That's right; I was doing a Kookie-happy dance because I had gained _thirteen_ pounds!

I was just getting a check up and my blood sucked from me by Count Hank when he said I needed to weigh myself.

I was _actually_ 112 pounds now!

Okay, don't think it is _so_ weird. Remember, I don't have marrow in my bones**, **so that nixes a good amount of weight right there. Look at Mr. Warren! He is six feet tall and only 150 pounds! I am shorter and wingless**, **so I am going to weigh less.

"That's not bad for not eating!" I proudly announced and then regretted it as soon as it hit my ears.

"Beg your pardon?" Dr. Hank's eyebrows rose in concern. "Am I to understand you have not eaten yet today?"

Oops.

"Yeah," I lied. "I just haven't eaten today."

"Its three thirty; since the building hasn't been blown up, attacked, or overrun with killer chipmunks, there is no logical explanation why you have yet to partake of the delicacies offered." Blue eyes narrowed, and I felt like I should have a spotlight on me as he scrutinized me harshly with those eyes.

"I shall find out the truth with the labs I have to work up on you, Kookie. If I should find out anything abnormal, I _will_ report it to your father."

My eyes darted around the lab, and I started to ball and unball my hands.

"O-okay!" I smiled, but on the inside, my brain was at the drawing table scribbling out lies and stories as fast as it could in preparation for what was to come.

Awkward silence followed until someone cleared their throat to gain our attention.

"Speak of the one-eyed devil!" Dr. Hank welcomed in Cyclops.

"Kookie," was the only acknowledgment he gave me. I crossed my arms and kept my eyes down.

"Is that all, Dr. Hank?" I questioned softly.

"Indeed. For now."

I shoved my feet back into my shoes and all but flew (no joke intended) out of the labs.

When I got back to the bedroom, Hisako was there, in uniform, about to leave.

"How'd it go?"

"I gained weight!"

She blinked at me as she adjusted her belt. "I'm sorry?"

"Don't be!" I chirped (again, the bird reference isn't a joke). "I'm glad!"

"Guess I should have known; you're not wearing your second skin." She smiled**, **and I tipped my head to the side in a silent question. "Your sweatshirt."

Like a true airhead, I glanced down and saw nothing but my black t-shirt.

I bumped the heel of my palm into my forehead, did an about face, and dragged my feet back to the labs. I was in such a rush to _escape_ Dad that I didn't even remember my overly worn**, **favorite garment.

Just as I was passing the Danger Room control room, Sam popped his head out and smiled at me.

"Great timin'!"

I had jumped back when he stuck his head out, so I _know_ I looked guilty of _something _with the shock on my face_. _

"You busy?" he questioned with a slightly pained face.

"Uh, no?"

"You sure?"

"I—like to wander around the halls, just seeing if someone can put me to use." I said with a nod.

Sam smiled.

"Ah have _got_ to go to the bathroom and grab something to eat; would you mind watching the controls?"

"Sure—who's in there?"

Sam ran around, grabbing some empty cartons and hitting a few buttons.

"Hellion and a few others."

"_Hellion_?" That person just _had_ to have horns to own a name like that.

"Yeah, Julian." He was flipping through a clipboard quickly jotting things down, so he missed the evil grin on my face.

Ding-dong!

"_Sure_, I'll watch over them!" My little devil on my shoulder was laughing so hard I think she rolled off my shoulder and was tearing up at my feet. "In fact, take your time."

A blonde eyebrow hiked up, but his bladder got the best of him, and he uttered a quick thanks as he ran out the door.

Thankfully, they didn't change the controls _too_ much from what I remembered of the Danger Room back in Westchester. I sat down and cracked my knuckles, and with the grace of a conductor approaching the podium, I started to key in my symphony of mayhem.

I muted the speakers so I couldn't hear what they were trying to tell me through their communication links and turned up the difficulty but left it on 'safe' mode.

I wanted revenge, not a jail sentence.

* * *

This _sucked_.

Life _sucked_.

What was worse was that life _sucked_ and I had no one and nothing to hit.

It had been two days since my rejoicing over gaining weight and torturing Julian with the help of the Danger Room.

The only slightly amusing thing was that _Summers_ and _Frost_ knew I was _mad_ but had no clue as to why.

Were they going to ask?

Nope.

I hoped not.

I didn't want to explode on them.

Well, I _did,_ but I didn't want to feel guilty about it later.

Or be forced to hide two bodies.

Or have to apologize to _either_ of them.

I was stuck at my 'job', driving a pen into a stack of paper, drawing stick figures, and biting back growls.

"Kookie, did you print off those articles from Texas?" _Summers_ asked.

With a forced smile, I turned to him and answered.

"Yes, Mr. Summers." My little stick figure got stabbed in his sunglasses.

He stared at me and the death grip I had on the pen in my hand.

"Is everything okay, Kookie?" Was that _concern_? Dare he show _concern_ over little _insignificant_ me?

How cute.

"Yes, Mr. Summers."

"I'm expecting someone in a few minutes; bring the print-offs then." He shut the door to his office quietly, and I threw my pen across the room in frustration.

See, the thing was, I had been a little sneaky sneak when it came to the computer in the Control Room. I was doing stupid stuff at first, like checking to see what Emma said she weighed and if Pixie's hair color was truly pink, when _my_ name caught my attention.

Being the ever curious one, I clicked on the file and found it to be a rather long report of my being found and my progress since then. It had several of the seniors in different tabs, and I had only gotten time to read a few before fear of being caught by Sam made me close it out.

In the file, it clearly read that _Frost_ had ordered Julian to fight with me. Apparently, she wanted to test my ability, and I was rated _sub-par_.

I tightened my jaw, and the teeth I had left grinding into each other or straight into my gums.

I wasn't surprised about _that_ as much as _Summers_ had made a note that I wasn't ready for team play because I was _traumatized_. As of the time he wrote the report, which happened to be last week, I was considered a liability and should not be expected to recover within a decent time frame.

What did _I_ have to be traumatized about?

Being kidnapped, locked in a cage for nine months, having to watch person after person die and be dissected, being starved, and being dehumanized by a crazy freakin' cult? _Or_ only getting rescued by chance, having to rebuild my body from basically _bones_, finding out my _Mother_ was dead, finding out one of my old teammates was _dead_, and then being put into a plastic bubble because they think I'm so fragile I'd break?

Doesn't that happen to everyone?

My anger rose rapidly, and it wasn't until my gums started to _hurt_ that I realized my mouth was filling with blood. Mentally kicking myself, I grabbed a handful of Kleenex and leaned over the nearby trashcan, spitting out the blood and wiping my mouth. I turned away from the door to stuff some of the tissues into my mouth to slow, if not stop, the bleeding.

"Excuse me?" My head snapped up. I knew that voice. It was one I hadn't heard in a _long_ time.

My bloody, Kleenex filled mouth hung open as I laid eyes on the man,and his eyebrows catapulted up his hairless head.

"Kerry?"

"Pwohessow?" I turned back to the trashcan and took out the tissues, my tongue now incredibly dry. I faced him again. _Something_ was different about him; I just wasn't sure _what_.

"You're alive," he pointed out, walking toward me.

_That's _when it smashed into my brain.

"You're _walking_!"

The professor stopped and gave a small smile. Will wonders never _cease_! I thought the man's face was chiseled from stone, and here he was _smiling_.

"Indeed."

Before another word could be exchanged, Scott came out of his office, laid eyes on the Prof, and said for him to come in.

I was still in a stunned mindset, so when the phone rang, I didn't answer it.

It wasn't until Emma came out, stood by my desk, and tapped the tip of her heel repeatedly that I came out of my stupor.

* * *

"…_there are no __**accidents**_, _just a plan…"_

_I didn't understand what she was saying._

_The voice soothing but I was shaking from the inside out. _

_Coughing, blood in my mouth and tears in my eyes._

_I will not cry. Dad, please save me! SAVE ME!_

Like always, I jolted up from where I had been sleeping. I was covered in a cold sweat and trembling.

Was that another dream, or was it another memory?

I was in the same lab I always saw in my nightmares, a cloaked woman looking down at me. I could only ever see her chin and blood red lips.

Smiling, she was always smiling. No, s_mirking_. She was smirking.

"Kookie?"

I don't know who jumped higher as the voice broke through my concentration.

I jerked toward the voice, eyes flickering wildly. I was taking in my surroundings, prepared to fight, and then I saw one of the students standing there with a plate in his hand and a shocked expression on his face.

"Yeah?" This was the guy whose head is always on fire.

"Uh, are-are you planning on using the TV?" he asked.

I glanced over my shoulder to where the blank TV was positioned on the wall. It took a second for me to remember that I had been hiding from something and crashed in the main level TV room.

"Are you okay?" He put down his plate on the coffee table and tipped his head at me.

I was still shaking pretty badly, but I dug my nails into my palms in an attempt to get it under control. It worked to a point, and I quickly climbed to my feet, faked a smile, and said I was okay.

When I got out into the hall, images of the woman with red lips kept coming back into the forefront of my brain and stayed no matter what I tried to think of to get her out of there.

I _knew_ her, but I didn't know her.

It was the weirdest thing.

Then I watched as Dr. Hank ran past me on all fours with a Twinkie in his mouth followed by a giant rock guy screaming at him to stop and return the Twinkie.

Okay, maybe it was the _second_ weirdest thing.

* * *

"Mr. Logan?" I asked in the sweetest voice I could possibly stand to use.

He crooked an eyebrow at me, his beer bottle sitting on his lip, about to be poured down his throat.

I had a big smile on my lips and my arms behind my back, rocking from heel to toe on my feet. I was going for the 'cute, innocent little girl' image.

After he took a swig, he lowered his bottle and looked at me suspiciously.

"Yeah?"

"You know, you are the _best_." Yes, I was in _full_ suck-upmode. "I mean, that's what you say all the time, right?"

"Whattaya want, kid?" He had his feet up on the railing of the back balcony/lanai thing and was leaning back in one of the chairs.

"I was just wondering, if you didn't mind and could find in you very caring and considerate heart," he snorted at that comment, "would you be willing to, I dunno, _train_ me?"

"Cyke said yer off the roster." He took another sip.

I huffed and put my hands on my hips. It took another few seconds of thinkingbefore I renewed my suck-up smile.

"_Technically_," I started, "he said I wasn't allowed to train or workout with a _team_." Blue eyes shot over to me, and I had to try and keep from laughing like a moron because my logic was actually logical. "And since when do you let him tell you what you can or can't do? Would you listen to him if he told you to start attending AA meetings?"

With one last chug, he killed his drink and threw it over the side of the railing. It landed and rolled into the yard next to several others of its kind. Mr. Logan stood up and gave me a very stern look.

"He doesn't know anything about this does he?"

"Not really, "I replied guiltily.

"You don't think he'd approve?"

"Not really." This wasn't looking too promising.

"So you want me to train you?"

"Yes. I would like for you to kick the crap out of me so I can learn to do the same to other people."

He smirked at that.

"Fine, Summers. Tomorrow at four, meet me out here." He walked off, and while I was rejoicing about getting what I wanted, he added, "and that's four in the _morning_, Summers."

Aw, crap.


	5. Stubborness

Why Me?

Chapter 5

* * *

_Ow. Ow. Ow. _

With every step I took, I kept repeating that word.

Every muscle in my battered body was sore, and every move I made felt the pain and burn.

I had been secretly meeting with Mr. Logan for about three weeks, and he had a fun time kicking my butt from one side of the property, into the small lake, and back again. He never let up! Not even when I tried to climb a tree and _hide _from him after escaping the lake. All he did was cut the tree down and continue the pounding.

"Is everything okay, Kookie?" the big rock guy questioned. "You're moving like a robot."

I gave a totally fake smile and nodded.

"I'm fine! Just slept wrong; that's all." I couldn't tell anyone what I was doing because it would get back to dad, and doubtless, he'd want me to quit.

I made my way to 'work' and with a groan, sat down in my chair.

There was already a pile of papers with several sticky notes on them waiting for me. To others, it might look like work; to me, it was the perfect height for a makeshift pillow.

"Kookie, what have I told you about sleeping on the job?" Emma's I-am-_so-_not-a-morning-person voice asked.

I didn't lift my head as I mumbled, "Not to get caught?"

"It isn't very professional." She tsked and left me alone.

I figured that if she was really concerned about the image of this place, she'd actually _hire_ someone to do this job instead of rooking an innocent bystander like me to do it.

* * *

"It's only temporary," Mr. Warren tried to be soothing, but I started to whine again. "Unless you want to go around _gumming_ all your food, this _isn't_ such a bad thing."

I gave him my best pout, but he rolled his eyes, straightened the newspaper he was reading and stuck it in front of his face.

_Dentures_.

That was the master plan to fix my teeth problems.

My gums itched every time I thought about it. The dentist said it was only because I was irritating them by trying to use the few teeth I had left to do what a mouthful of teeth normally did.

Yes, I did have a speech impediment. It wasn't until yesterday that Emma decided I was so unintelligible that she took me off of phone duty and put me on filing duty. In the world of electronics, they still want 'hard copies' of everything.

There was a _lot_ of paper airplanes made yesterday.

Mr. Warren and this lady with purple hair he kept calling 'Betsy' had decided to take me to this professional tooth person. Mr. Warren was to pay, and it was Miss Betsy who got me in the same day because she knew him by being an old patient of his or something.

I was too busy raining in my pity pool party to really care about the details.

"Why is it that no matter what they _lack_, women still can pull off a pout?"

"Because, luv, that is what we _do_," Miss Betsy replied. "It's how we win without using words."

"I can think of several _other_ ways you could win that don't require words."

_Uhm, __**hello**__ I am still sitting here_, I thought, rolling my eyes.

Lucky for me, Miss Betsy smacked him on the arm.

"There is a _child_ present, Mr. Worthington."

_Okay, I'd rather hear the perverted talk than be called a __**kid**__, _I thought darkly, my pout growing.

"Miss Summers?" a little blonde asked as she popped her head out from a doorway. "The doctor will see you now."

I grabbed a magazine in anticipation of another waiting period and then stood up.

"I'll go back with you," Miss Betsy said, standing up as I did. I glanced up at her (yes, _up;_ the lady was really tall), and she smiled at me and put a hand on my shoulder. "Just to make sure you get the best they have to offer."

I gave a twitch of a smile.

We started to leave, and then Mr. Warren had to sink his other foot into his mouth.

"Did I mention how much I love to watch you walk away, Bets?"

I handed her the magazine. She took it, turned, and threw it behind us.

"_Hey_!" Mr. Warren screeched as the magazine connected with his face.

* * *

Tears and my nose were running.

My nose was sore from my wiping it with a sleeve of Josh's sweatshirt I was wearing. I sat out on the sidewalk at the Greymalkin complex. It had been only about seven hours since I was fitted for and given the temporary dentures.

I burst into tears at the dentist's office, saying that I was like an old man and that no one my age should have to have dentures. My life was weird enough, but now I had _dentures_ to chew on that fact.

In a misguided attempt to calm me down, Miss Betsy and Mr. Warren came up with the idea that I would feel better after a trip to a luxurious beauty spa.

Yeah, that didn't go very well either.

I had four women pampering me as I was forced into a fluffy pink robe. They each took a hand or foot and did whatever it is that makes them look like a _girl's_ hands instead of the tomboy's hands that I normally keep.

Miss Betsy was in the chair next to me, enjoying being picked and prodded with the supposed _beauty_ treatments.

After about an hour, I was like a cat in a dog pound looking for a way out. I was agreeable to _anything_ as long as it was rewarded with my freedom.

Stupidly, I agreed to a haircut.

Not a trim, a hairc_ut_.

Since it wasn't that _long_ and hadn't been on my head that long either, I was a feisty beast in the chair. Finally, they served me with something I thought was a strawberry smoothie. Ah, no, it had alcohol in it, and it relaxed the fight right outta me.

I didn't know it was spiked until they whirled me around and let me see my new hair style in the mirror.

Whatever they put in the strawberry drink wasn't strong enough to keep me from flipping out.

"I look like a _boy!_" I had pointed out in dread.

The beauty salon people were _so_ happy to see us leave. I didn't talk to Mr. Warren as we drove back to the complex. Miss Betsy tried to assure me I looked great, but I just started to sniffle. Telling me, who has short hair, that it looks good doesn't mean anything coming from a lady with long, beautiful hair.

"What's wrong, Kookie?"

_Bobby_. Why did it have to be _Bobby_!

I pulled my legs closer and covered my head with my hands.

I did _not_ want to be seen, especially by _him_, and he had to be the first one!

"Go 'way!" I muttered.

I heard, rather than saw, him come closer. He kneeled down in front of me and put a hand on my head, trying to get me to look up.

"Don't!" I yelped, ducking my head further.

"You look like you're about to knock off a convenience store with the hood on." I heard the amusement in his voice.

"Why are you out here?" Maybe he was just taking a walk? Maybe he would just _walk away_ so I could crawl under a rock and die.

"Warren said I needed to come find you."

So I wasn't going to crawl under the rock, I was going to pick it up and throw it at Mr. Warren when I found him.

"Why?" I whined.

"Because he said you were upset, and nothing he did seemed to work. I think you bruised his ego; he sorta prides himself on being a lady charmer."

What was I? A snake?

"I'm fine," I lied.

"Yeah, that's just about as likely as Logan giving up beer and becoming a monk."

The image popped into my head, and I gave a small amused noise.

"So what did Daddy Warbucks do to get you so upset?"

I bit my lip to keep from crying, and then I remembered that I was biting my lip with the _dentures_ I was currently sporting. Remembering that just had the tears starting again. The dentures slipped a, hair and I pushed them back in place with my lips and tongue.

"Well?"

He asked for it.

I told him the whole sob story (while appropriately _sobbing_), and when I was finished, I waited for him to laugh or make some sort of joke.

"Let me see," he said instead of something stupid. Okay, well, it _was_ stupid, but it wasn't the _normal _boy-stupid.

"This again?" I tried to pretend it wasn't anything and even added a pathetic laugh. "Why are you always trying to get me to take my clothes off?"

"It's an addiction."

Grrr, my cheeks might have been paled from crying, but they turned a bright rose shade for sure at that comment.

"So, come on, just let me see."

_What the heck_, I thought, _he's already seen me in my bikini, and if that didn't traumatize him…_

I pulled my head from the nest of my arms and made eye contact with him. I really, really love those eyes.

_Gah_! My estrogen was taking over my brain again!

I blinked my burning eyes and with a hesitant hand, pushed the hood back and off my head.

My eyes were downcast, and again, I waited for his snickering reply.

I felt his fingers run through my hair; curve around my ear and under my jaw. He lifted my chin and-

Bobby kissed me.

It wasn't anything more than a brushing of his lips against mine, but it was still in the classification of a _kiss_.

My mouth hung open slightly as he leaned back and gave me a smile-smirk combination.

Both my heart and voice were tangled up together in pure, giddy shock. I could feel their eyelashes in my stomach as they rapidly blinked their eyes.

"Uh—" was the only noise I made, and with that, the smirk melted out of the smile he was giving me.

"It's just like I thought." Even though he was trying to keep the amusement t out of his voice, he was failing at it. Then, the next two words he leaned forward and whispered them into my ear, "still beautiful."

You could fry eggs on my cheeks they were heated so much. The hair on my neck stood up straight, and I had goosebumps popping up and down both of my arms.

He couldn't' see any of this, thankfully!

What he could see as he, again, moved back slightly was the deep blush.

"Red 's a good color on you, Kookie."

"Shut-up," I muttered out and he laughed.

No matter how embarrassed I was, my heart was still squealing with joy in my chest.

* * *

I spit out a mouthful of spit and blood before turning my head to glare at the cause. Mr. Logan stood there, bored look in his eyes and a cigar hanging from his mouth.

It had been four weeks since we started this masochistic-sadistic relationship. He was kicking my tail from one end of the clearing to the next without apology. Every time he knocked me down, he'd then told me what I did wrong and to try again.

My bruises, I gave up trying to explain them. Scott and Emma didn't even notice. Scott didn't notice anything unless it was Emma or involved in saving the world. The fact that I was around didn't seem to have him amazed or even interested anymore, and that caused fury to build in my stomach.

"Come on, kid, I ain't got all day." Mr. Logan flicked the end of his cigar to kick off the ashes before pinching it between his lips again.

Mentally and physically, I was _exhausted_.

There was a voice inside me that kept asking, _why?_

I clambered to my feet, swayed, and set myself back into fight position.

"Come," he barked.

It took all of two minutes for him to ground me again. I was covered in sweat, dirt, and mud. Mr. Logan took one small whiff and told me that we were done for today. He picked up a towel he had draped over a low hanging branch and threw it at me.

My face caught it, and I let it hang there like some terry cloth veil. I couldn't even stand up.

_What was the point_? I kept asking myself.

I had overheard, by chance (okay, by snooping but that just makes me sound bad), what Da—_Scott_ and Emma really thought of my potential—or lack thereof.

It had been a few days ago; I was going to head down to dinner with Pixie and Hisako when I realized I forgot my cell phone in the office. I ran back there to find the front part of the office pitch black, but there was a light coming from underneath the main office door.

I didn't think much of it, not wanting to think about Emma and Scott playing any sordid little games and found my phone. It was just after I picked it up and slipped it into my back pocket that I heard my name mentioned from the people within.

My ears perked, and my curiosity soared.

The evil little person I can be knew that if I pressed the intercom button and kept the volume low and my side on mute, they wouldn't know I was eavesdropping. The crazy thing had been malfunctioning since they put it in, so they probably wouldn't be suspicious, especially since I was supposed to be gone for the day.

I grabbed the sleek little box, turned the volume to low, pressed the mute button at the same time I hit 'S & E' (Scott and Emma), and heard the clear beep from within their office.

"… really have to get Bolt in here to get this thing fixed," Emma grumbled.

I smirked and settled myself under my desk for the radio show.

"That aside," Scott started, "I don't agree. You know I don't."

There was a silence and some part of me wondered why they didn't just hold this conversation in their heads so nosey brats such as myself couldn't overhear it.

"She is one of the few who are still enabled with their powers, and she _is_ your adopted daughter." Emma's tone wasn't cold, but it was sharp. "You already started to train her before her disappearance as an X-man _and_ as a leader. Why change that now?"

There was a pause, and I didn't even realize I was holding my breath until my throat started to tighten.

He was stalling in answering or something, but finally, _finally _Scott replied.

"Kerry isn't cut out for this lifestyle." Wow, anyone else suddenly feel a knife being plunged into their backs? "She never really was to tell the truth. She _was_ headstrong but emotionally unstable. She made it evident that she took no interest or pleasure out of being trained as a fighter. Although she has some of her powers still _intact_, we _still_ don't know the full extent of the changes and alterations.

I've kept her here because she doesn't have anywhere else to go. She's eighteen and free to leave or do what she wants, I just don't think she's motivated to do much if anything. I'm the only family she has right now, but she shouldn't stay here."

I slapped my hand over my mouth to keep the sobbing from being heard, but I was crying.

Who _wouldn't _after hearing their _Dad_ say something like _that_?

"What about college?"

"She didn't seem to like school and studying that much. Kerry never showed any real interest in any particular field."

Great, I'm stupid as well.

"Is this because you just don't want her to be hurt again?"

I heard the rustle of clothes and a few steps taken before his voice came through the box again.

"We all get _hurt_; it's an occupational hazard in this line of work. I don't want her on the team because she isn't X-Men material, not for any other reason."

No more, I couldn't listen to them anymore. I released the buttons and allowed the box to fall from my hands and onto the floor. My entire body was shaking as I cried harder and harder underneath my desk.

So that is why I was numb on the inside and bloody and bruised on the outside. I just didn't have the heart to fight back though I tried my best to fake that.

I forced myself up to my feet.

I barely had enough time to shower and dress before getting to work. I didn't want to go. Scott thought I was emotionally unstable, and the fact that I was irate one day and depressed the next really didn't help that image.

Scott and Emma couldn't drag it out of me, and I wasn't about to tell them that I knew anything because I was eavesdropping.

That wouldn't exactly make a positive mark on my profile.

* * *

One tiny scrap of paper had me so stressed out you'd think that I was holding the secret combination to blowing up the world.

It was a tiny Post-It note paper with ten numbers scrawled across it and a single letter below them.

'D'.

D. As in _Darcy_. As in my _sister_.

I flipped my cell phone open again, stared at the number and then at the number pad but lost my nerve and shut it again.

This was stupid.

I should just call her.

I'd been meaning to for about six months. It just slipped my mind, _really_.

Okay, so I'm lying.

I wanted to call her, but how do you start a conversation with someone who thinks you're dead and isn't part of the craziness that stains the X-Peoples' world?

"Hey, just thought I'd call and see how you were doing. Me? Dead? Well, maybe for a little while, but I was cured…" or something like that just didn't seem right.

To get this little ten digit dilemma, I had to ask someone for it. I finally got enough guts to ask Chris when he was here a few days ago, and he didn't say anything but wrote down the number and that was that. I didn't even get a chance to ask him how he _knew_ my sister's phone number, who she was with, or how she got to wherever she was now.

Tapping the phone on my forehead, I tried to conjure up some likely story I could tell her.

I could try the truth, but I didn't want to scar her with more your-sister's-life-has-gotten-really-bad-since-she-was-found-to-be-a-mutant stories.

Besides, the last time I spoke with Darcy, I wasn't exactly the nicest person in the world.

I all but blamed her directly for my troubles at that time. It wasn't her fault, I knew that, but I wanted someone to take it out on, and I knew how to hurt my sister. That's the funny thing about families, they know what will bring you up and stomp you down.

"Would you just get on with it," came a highly irritated voice.

I looked up and into the cool eyes of—yet _another_ person I didn't know or recognize.

"Uh, who are you?"

His eyes narrowed. He had blue eyes, stark white hair, and an expression that would make fake flowers wilt.

"The window behind you belongs to _my_ office." I dutifully looked behind me and blinked in surprise. I didn't even realize there _was_ a window there. "If you want to cluck and strut like a chicken, I suggest you find a barnyard to do so in and _leave_ the area."

I had to wonder as my eyebrow ticked in annoyance if the bird reference was just a coincidence or if he was being a bigger jerk than he needed to be.

"I'm sorry." I faked a smile and pushed off the wall I'd been leaning on. I walked past him muttering, "My mistake."

My triumph was short lived.

"Do you always back down so quickly?"

I glanced over my shoulder at this silver-haired man.

His bored expression hadn't changed a hair, and I felt my irritation rising.

"Perhaps that is why Scott has refused to put you in training again, regardless of the advice from the others who believe you are ready."

When did Emma become 'others'?

"Not a surprise," I replied, facing forward again but with my eyes downcast. I already knew Scott thought of me as a failure. I had done anything and everything he ever asked of me, went to hell and stayed there for _months,_ and yet it wasn't good enough for him.

_I_ wasn't good enough.

"Not a surprise, indeed. So you really do quit easily," he remarked in a smug tone that was like being beaten and then buried in salt. The mysterious man walked up to me, leaning down enough to make sure I heard him loud and clear. "And I would've thought that a person who has been through what you have been through would be made better than that."

My jaw was so tight it throbbed, my gums were in pain because of the pressure I was putting on my teeth, and my eyes were stinging and burning. I was balling and unballing my hands; my palms should have been spurting blood with the way I kept digging my nails into them.

With his point made, I guess he didn't see any reason to mock me anymore as he started to walk back toward the nearest door inside the complex.

I _really_ didn't think about what I did next. My body just reacted, and before I knew it, I threw my cell phone directly toward the back of his head—and it hit dead on the spot.

"Why you-!" He was ready to kill by the look in his eyes, but I didn't give a damn about it anymore.

Well, at least not at that precise time and place.

"Shut-_u_p." I tried not to explode for so long. I was trying to keep everything in because I didn't want them to feel _sorry_ for me. Yes, some of them knew the basics of what happened, but no one knew what _really_ went on and the depths that those insane, narcissistic so-called _Redeemers_ sunk in the name of 'mutanthood'.

"_Nobody_ knows what I've been through!" I growled, my eyes narrowing. "They might have been through similar but they haven't been through the same crap! Everyone wants to know, but they won't _ask_ because they are afraid I'm going to break. Or that they are going to have to face up to the fact that what happened to me _happened_. They seem to want to just pretend that I was on vacation! Just so long as they don't have to admit that it was _them_ who let _me_ down.

I want to fight; I want those psycho groupies to _die_ and _painfully_, just like they filleted and slaughtered the people they stole. But _he_ won't give me the chance to get back _anything_ of what I lost when I was in hell. He won't even—" my voice finally broke and I pinched my lips together, shaking from my emotions.

His blue eyes stayed steady on me as he rubbed the back of his head where my cell phone had connected. Then he looked down his nose at me but never moved his feet.

"If you want to be _heard_," he started coldly, "then try _talking_. If you want Scott to hear you, then try talking to him."

"Keh!" was my response. Talk? To Scott? That was like trying to make a cat lick the back of its head; it might seem possible, but in the end it totally isn't. "He won't listen to anything I have to say."

"Try it," the man replied. "Not whining or screaming but _talking_ to him. You want him to see you as someone worthy of being an X-Man, then start _acting_ like it."

I was quiet. Okay, so I wasn't _exactly _showing off my maturity to anyone since I had been back. I was either silent and depressed or overly drunk on denial and played like I had never left. I knew this.

"And also," came the man's crisp, _annoyed_ voice, "if you ever throw anything at me again, I will drop take you into the middle of the ocean and leave you there." He gave a rather nasty look before leaving to go back into the building.

Note to self: Never throw something at a mutant until you know whether or not that mutant can turn you inside out.

* * *

Three days later, I was bored. A bored Kookie was not a good thing as Dr. Hank was finding out (or remembering?).

"Kookie, will you _please_ refrain from spinning in my chair?" Dr. Hank asked for the twentieth time.

As the rotations slowed to a stop, I felt like my eyeballs were still rolling around in my head. Due to boredom, I had made my way to the sickbay/medical lab and confiscated Dr. Hank's computer chair. It had wheels, and the seat could rotate all the way around.

This proved to be entertaining as I had spent twenty minutes spinning and driving Dr. Hank up the wall (not that he wasn't already hanging from the ceiling, but you get my point).

"But it's fun!" I defended as a goofy smile crossed my face. The new teeth were still causing my gums to itch like crazy, but it was better than having the dentures.

"Couldn't you do something that is more productive to entertain yourself?"

I thought about it for a second and then sighed. "But you won't let me touch anything in here."

"Because you usually _break_ things you get your hands on." He flipped from the ceiling to the floor and peered at me over his glasses. "I thought Emma had given you a job answering phones for their office?"

I averted my eyes. I didn't want to see Emma or Dad ever since I overheard them talking. Okay, so overheard is putting it nicely; I was purposefully listening in by a less than honest technique.

"They, uh, excused me for a while after the paperclip incident."

"Paperclips?"

I cleared my throat, "Yeah, Emma and Sc—_Dad_ left me alone in the office for too long when the phone line down, and there wasn't too much for me to do. So-well-"

"Well?" He was studying me like I was a bug in a jar.

"While they were in their office doing whatever, I kinda took all the paperclips and made a—web of them from one end of the office to the other." I bit my lip before I continued. "And I made them all booby traps so that wherever anyone walked, they'd get hit by something or tripped or something."

He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose as he shut his eyes.

"And how, pray tell, did you know to set up any of that?"

I turned the chair from side to side. "Internet."

He opened his eyes just to let me see him roll them. "Of course."

I was down there an hour before I managed to nab a lab coat from the extras hanging in the closet and settle down underneath one of the tables in the back of the lab. I made sure that 'Big Blue' didn't see me sneak off to sleep.

It had been months, but I _still_ was having major issues with staying asleep and when asleep, escaping my nightmares. I balled up the lab coat and laid my head on it, curling up and feeling sick to my stomach when I realized I had unconsciously trained myself to mimic the curled up way I would sleep while I was stuck in the cage.

The horrible dreams, I knew, weren't really _dreams_. There were no unexplained appearances of famous people or odd happenings like normal dreams; all my dreams were memories.

There was the red lady who always spoke over me, never _to_ me, and the lab where I had been strapped to the table with a group of people poking and prodding me. They were always talking, but I couldn't remember what it was that they said.

It had to do with me, but it was mainly about the red lady. She was promising them salvation from the oppressors.

They wanted to hide; they wanted to be—invisible.

It was with these thoughts that I fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

"About damn time, kid." Mr. Logan was grinning as he pulled himself from the base of the tree I had just kicked him into.

"I—_hit_ you," I said, totally stunned.

"Yup," he confirmed, brushing a few splinters of wood off his chest.

I gawked down at my hand like it had done something without my permission. Flipping it from palm to the back of the hand and back again, I was in amazement about what I just did.

Well, I was until Wolverine kicked me soundly in the gut.

"Never take your eyes off your opponent," he chastised as I hit my knees, hands over my stomach and pain flaring like wildfire in my abdomen. My eyes were pinched shut as something-something bad was happening.

The kick shouldn't have been able to hurt my _head_ like it was, right?

"Get up, kid." He sounded a million miles away.

Something was wrong.

I started to cough, no, _hack_. I felt pressure on my shoulder, and I cracked open an eye when my chin was forced up.

Mr. Logan was blackened out by the light from behind him.

It wasn't _that_ sunny out yet, and if it was something dangerous, he would have attacked it.

"Dammit, what's _wrong_?" he barked; his tone was lightly concerned.

My throat burned, my stomach felt like it was being pulled apart, my hands felt like they were run over by a four-wheeler, and my eyes should have been _bleeding_ with the amount of pain they were roasting in.

It was after this nerve frying self-evaluation that my old friend Mr. blackout occurred.

I'd rather be knocked out any day than to feel _that_.

* * *

You know those dreams where you _know_ it's a dream, and so you try to control it, but the things you think up get twisted and make things _worse_?

Like you are being chased through the woods by some chainsaw toting maniac with a mask, so you think up a car, and you get what you want, sorta. Instead of being _in_ the car, maniac person is in it and catching up to you before you can even curse or think of something else.

That is where I was.

On the outside, I have no idea what was happening to me, but on the inside, in my thinking, I was aware and awake.

I wasn't running; I was as frozen as a bank account of a murder suspect.

I was seeing myself in third person. Weird, right? But it was like I was watching a recording, and I was one of the main actresses.

The other actress?

Fortune.

Of all the things I could remember or create, I had to subconsciously pick _her_. I could be dreaming about dancing cookies and singing unicorns but no. Instead of happy, fluffy images, I went right down Pain Path to Depression Drive and parked on Angst Avenue.

From where I stood in the room, I was behind the 'recorded' me, who was kneeling. I wasn't on my knees by _choice_ but by a heavy handed guard who had been reprimanded for handling me roughly after he knocked me down to the floor.

Fortune, the psycho psychic of all things future related, sat in front of both of the mes with one leg crossed over the other, fingers gripping the side of her 'throne' and her features shadowed by the blood red hood that flowed into her cape.

Well, I could still see those ruby red lips.

Red, everything about her was _red_.

I could see those stop sign colored lips flap about something, but I either didn't remember or had blocked her out.

"…greater…" Oh, I was getting reception now, "…claims to try and _free_ will be our downfall…"

The memory me glanced up at her as the dream me walked around the memory me and stepped closer to the lady in red.

I thought I would be all Wolverine-esque if ever I saw the demented monster again. Heck, I thought I might even be _scared,_ but instead I was—analyzing her.

Scott was really turning me into a female, weaker version of himself somehow. What was I going to do next? Start dating Ken like he was dating Barbie (Emma)?

"Eventually, you'll forget about this place. Forget about us, and forget about _them._" Well, that's one prediction in which she was dead wrong. "My dark warrior angel, you will bring us glory through this. Through what I sow, you will reap a marvelous rebirth…"

Why, why, why! Why was I remembering this _now_ when I didn't have a pen and paper to jot this all down? Grr, lousy luck and horrid timing.

The scenery started to blot like a watercolor painting, like a _bad_ watercolor painting, and before long, I was standing alone in the dark.

Or so I thought.


	6. Kookie Proof

_**Why Me?**_

Chapter Six

* * *

Authoress Notes: Okay, I have to add this to the blah part of my chapter.

There were two reviewers who caught my attention just because they mentioned Julie and Rachel.

Rachel is-well, I don't _know_ where in the X-Men world. As for having her show up in the story? It probably won't happen since I don't really think adding an insult to injury of the whole daughter question with Kerry would help any. Secondly on this part, my 'Emma-bashing' might be extreme. I am only writing this as someone who sees their parent with a new person and blames that new person for a breakup of the parents. Kerry is bitter toward Emma for this reason.

Julie? Someone actually wants _Julie_ back? Wow. Well, * clears throat * I already had her planned on coming back into the story though I warn you, I am not a very nice person to her… not that I ever was… *cough cough*

* * *

_Most_ people look forward to Friday because _most_ Fridays indicate the end of the week and the start of forty-eight hours of glorious freedom.

I am _not_ most people.

Of course, most people wouldn't be running from the 'new' X-Men through the middle of a dark, damp jungle.

But, technically, I wasn't running at the moment.

"Herck!" I was hoisted in the air, Rockslide's hand tight on my throat.

Normal people wouldn't be getting choked by a guy made of rocks _either_.

"You're gonna lose." He grinned. At least, I _think_ he grinned. I mean how can one really read a rock's expression?

My hands were wrapped around his wrist as I bared my teeth in frustration. I gagged out a response to his petty comment.

He grumbled something and jerked me forward, closer to his face. I felt the evil little plotter in my mind lean back in her chair and smirk.

Believe it or not, this was, for the most part, all in my plan.

No, my plan was not to _die_. I knew I would get kicked around like a soccer ball, and needless to say, this part of the plan _sucked_.

Let me go back about some weeks to when I woke up in the sick bay area of the medical lab. Apparently, Wolverine had hauled me down to see Dr. Hank after I passed out during my hush-hush training.

I regained consciousness about six hours later, and from what I was told, I came to screaming bloody murder. I don't remember anything about this, but Dr. Hank was very detailed about having to call Mr. Piotr and Miss Rogue to restrain me while I was being strapped to a bed they used _only_ for the pesky mutants with super strength who had gone temporarily insane.

When I woke up and actually remembered doing so, my eyes felt like they had been slit open, filled with salt, and then slapped around like a piñata!

In other words, my eyes hurt, and I was begging for someone to turn off the lights because they were making my eyes hurt _more_. On top of eye pain, I was gifted a nasty migraine. The migraine or something led to more trouble when my nose started to bleed.

_Bleed _makes it sound like a trickle when it was more like a steady river of blood. I soaked the sheets of the bed, and Dr. Hank was worried that I might choke on my own blood (wouldn't that be a fun way to die).

Besides Dr. Hank, there were several other people in the room with us when he attempted to aid in the discomfort. He was able, finally, to inject me with a sedative, and you know what happened when I woke up the next time?

Nothing.

There was no discomfort (except the restraints), pain, or random bleeding body parts.

Dr. Hank was just as baffled before and after the examination as was his partner, a small older woman with pretty dark skin and an accent.

When he released me, he made sure to make me all but sign in blood that I would be back in the sick bay if I didn't feel well.

I waved it off as just another crazy thing in my life. I probably would have freaked out and swore I was going to grow a tail or something, but I was much too preoccupied with my new idea.

Dad and Emma didn't say much to me when I was in the office because everything they gave me to do, I did in record time, and I even answered the phone with the proper speech (mostly). Not to say I didn't unplug the phone sometimes because I needed to concentrate, but I wasn't threatening to throw it out the window anymore.

For the next few days, I spent most of my time with a pen in my hand and a notebook in front of me. I wrote, as clearly and quickly as I could, anything and everything I could remember about the nine months I spent as a 'guest' of the Redeemers.

I know that typing it up on the computer might have been faster, but I didn't want anyone besides one person to get this information. In my 'coma' or whatever, I had flashes of different things and people.

When I woke up, there was a plan booming like thunder to get me back on the team and out of the secretarial pool I was currently drowning in.

I would get so focused, I would often get a plate of food and then forget to _eat_ any of it. Also, because I was being quiet and getting writer's cramp, people would filter in and out of the dining area completely oblivious to me. Sure I sat by myself at a table that was mostly hidden by a large, _fake_ potted plant, but still, it was weird.

Let me say this, when you aren't talking, you hear _so_ much more gossip.

I was still focused, but whenever a word popped out in a conversation that triggered my curiosity, I wasn't happy until I listened in.

There was nothing truly useful, just who was after whom and much of the same bull that high schoolers giggle and gloat about; so it scared the crap outta me when someone slammed a can of coke down on my table.

I let out an 'eek' of surprise and stared up at the person.

"Scared you." He smirked.

"Was that _really_ necessary?" I barked.

Chris dropped down in the chair across from me. After popping open his soda, he shrugged.

"You probably would have had the same reaction if I just said 'hi', so this was more fun." I felt my eyebrow tick in annoyance, and with a huff, I returned to my writing. "What are you doing anyway?"

"Writing," I replied simply. "Something us non-technical people have to do because we can't type fast enough."

Chris snorted at the comment.

"So, have you recovered from your hair trauma?"

I glanced up at him, confused. Then I narrowed my eyes.

"No thanks to you."

"I told you I didn't mean it like _that_."

"'_At least you don't look as bad as you used to_'? How else can I take it? You were all but calling me ugly or something." I huffed again. I huff a _lot_ around Chris recently. "Makes me wonder why I still talk to you."

"Because you are drawn to me, like a moth to a flame." His blue eyes sparked. He had learned a lot of new and totally weird tricks to do with his powers while I was gone.

"More like a fly to a pile of manure," I returned flippantly. "I'm busy." I gave a shooing motion with my hand and went back to my writing.

"What've you been doing anyway, fish bait?" He grabbed for my paper, and he barely missed getting stabbed with my fork. "Hey!"

We exchanged glares, and I stuck out my tongue before pulling the notebook in my lap and writing again.

"Why's being so secretive?" Chris lifted himself slightly in his seat, trying to see what I was writing. "Is it some type of dirty romance novel that involves two girls? Cause you know I'd be more than happy to proofread something like that for you."

I pointed the end of my pen at him. "Say anything like that again and you'll have a fork sticking outta your forehead."

He shrugged, sipping his drink. "There are worse places you could stick it."

"Oh, I'd _love_ to tell you where to _stick_ it," I replied without a thought.

_That_ made him grin.

I shook my head and sighed. "You are _sick_."

"Maybe, but you look the part."

"Oh, that's so original." I rolled my eyes, and when I wasn't paying attention to him, I got a fry thrown at my head. "Hey!"

"I'm serious." Chris was trying to pull an adult look, but I just raised an eyebrow. "You haven't touched your lunch, and don't _even_ say you had a big breakfast. I know for a _fact_ you weren't anywhere _near_ here for breakfast."

I took about five fries and shoved them into my mouth and gave him an expression that I hoped translated into 'happy now'.

After I had to hurt myself to swallow the dry, over-salted fries, I stole his drink and took a swallow.

"Why do you care, anyway?" I finally asked, shutting my notebook to prevent his prying eyes from seeing anything. "Don't you have something to fry or electrocute or—I dunno, a life to pretend you have?"

It was his turn to roll his eyes. "I was trying to be nice to you."

"You? Nice? You actually know how?"

A wicked, dangerous smile crossed his lips as he gave me a very mischievous (butterfly-in-stomach causing, too) look. "Oh, I know _how,_ and I can be _very_ nice."

Not being a boy-crazed girl who polluted her mind with cheesy romance novels and chick-flick movies, it took me a few heartbeats to get his underlying meaning. When I did, I shot straight to my feet.

"Later!" I nearly screeched as I turned tail and walked _really_ fast away from the table.

"Hey, Kookie, wait up!" Chris caught up to me, turned me around, and I just _couldn't_ look at him. I kept my face down and hoped he wouldn't notice the blush all over my face.

"Wh-what?"

He ducked down, trying, I guess, to see my expression, and when he gave a little grin-smirk, I knew I was busted.

"Am I making little Miss Summers_ blush_?" He then dropped his voice lower and leaned in to whisper against my ear, "I wonder what_ other_ reactions I might be able to stir up in you."

I pushed him away, anger gladly stepping over my mortified sense of self, and I gave him a pointed stare.

"A fork to your forehead; how is _that_ for a reaction to you!" I ground out. "So what do you want?" A heartbeat, "Wait, no, don't answer that! I-I meant what is it you wanted to tell me?"

The pile of hormones formerly known as Chris snickered at me before he cleared his throat. "I was going to say that Julie will be in town in a few weeks. We usually get together for a day or something; I wanted to know if you wanted to join."

Julie? Blackflame? I felt my stomach drop.

After hearing about Daisy, I didn't ask about the others. Adam, Adrian, and Julie were the other three of the team I once led. Chris was a co-leader, and we were always bantering back and forth (until he kissed me and made things just _weird_), and Daisy was just—Daisy.

"Does she-" I swallowed hard. "Does she want to see me?"

"Don't know. Didn't ask. Figured it would be a surprise." He shrugged, indifference trying to pour off of him, but I could tell he was all but drumming his fingers in anxiousness.

I gave him a half-smile and bit my lip. "Sure."

An authentic Chris smile broke out from the crazy, flirty guy he was being, and he nodded and told me he'd give me the details when Julie and he worked them out.

On top of all the writing I was doing, I was also hitting the gym like a cop to a doughnut shop. Scott had walked in on me running on the treadmill and didn't _ask_ anything, but I could tell he probably was wondering if the world was finally coming to an end.

Normally, he had to threaten to shave my head or deny me sweets to get me into the gym, but I was doing it willingly.

He probably thought I was doing this to say 'I'm sorry' for busting my cell phone for the fifth time since he gave me my own number. Like I coulda known that silver-haired guy (whose name is Jean-Paul or Northstar I found out) had a head that hard.

The other three phones I had were all—well, they met with water, dropping from a second story window and me crushing it in my hand when I kept losing on the game _Furious Felines_.

But that is a random point that has absolutely nothing to do with my plan, writing, and working out.

I was so dedicated to getting down a full description of everything I could remember from the nine months of hell I went through while with the Redeemers, I would often get sidetracked in a recollection. It was taking forever because I would start to write about one part and get thrust back into the memory.

In my head, it was all happening again. I could feel the wet hay under my legs, hear the clanks of the cages and muffled cries of those around me, and smell the stench of blood and waste (we were in cages, you think they were decent enough to supply us with _bathrooms_?).

It was during one of these living-in-the-past moments that I remembered something I had blocked out. Well, maybe blocked out was a bit off-color; more like, I didn't pay as much attention to it _then_ asI did _now_.

I had track marks going up and down my arms. There were so many dime sized bruises, I looked like a Dalmatian. Try as I might, I couldn't remember _what_ they had been injecting into me, and it bothered me so much that I finally had to drag my happy tail down to the labs.

Casual health questions weren't my forte, and Dr. Hank was preoccupied by his new friends that Dad dubbed the 'X-Club'. Basically, it was a group of super smart people who ran around in lab coats and got their happy from mathematical equations longer than the alphabet.

"Kookie," Dr. Hank acknowledged when I walked in. I had been pacing back and forth in front of the door for about twenty minutes. I would _still_ be pacing, trying to summon up the guts, if it wasn't for some old, grumpy guy in a white suit, who came down the hall carrying a cup of coffee.

He didn't say much of anything, just _stared_ at me.

Right before a sweat broke out over my skin, he arched one eyebrow as if silently asking, 'Well?'

"H-hi, Dr. Hank." I sounded like a mouse with my voice coming out so high. "I, uh, have a question."

He looked over at me from his spot behind the lady doctor-scientist.

"And that is?"

I looked around the room. The grumpy guy in white was sitting down, reading something on a clipboard. There was another man, who looked like he was carrying on a conversation with a pencil sharpener and an older guy, who was muttering something about what he was typing into the computer.

Okay, maybe they wouldn't be paying attention to me. They were all busy with their geekish lifestyles to pay much attention to a scrawny girl with a question.

I hoped.

"When I came here, you know, from Mr. Warren's place, and you took my blood," along with every _other_ body fluid I might produce, "I was wondering if—well, if there was anything—_weird_ about it."

Using his pointer finger, he pulled his glasses down his nose until he could look over the lenses at me. He also flinched a hair when I said the word 'blood'. I know for a _fact_ this man could probably eat spaghetti during an autopsy, so the word blood shouldn't have affected him at all.

"Why would you ask something like that?"

Okay, now I was getting doubly nervous because he was dodging the question.

His return question ping-ponged in my head until I could return the ball to his court.

"I'm—just _curious_ about my own medical, uh, stuff." You know, that would have been a lot more convincing if it didn't sound so stupid.

"Medical stuff?" Dr. Hank repeated, amused. "Your terminology never ceases to amuse me."

"You're avoiding the question," I pointed out, rocking up on my toes and then back on my heels. "And avoiding things never solves them."

"Coming from the Queen of Hide-and-seek, that is _truly_ ironic." He turned back to whatever he had been studying over the lady doctor's shoulder, and I huffed.

This wasn't going to get me _any_ answers. Subtle wasn't working; time for the bratty—I mean _direct_ approach.

"Yes, and as the queen, I am trying to prevent you from making the _huge_ mistake of avoiding things _and_ becoming my subject in denial land. When you hide something, you know it only festers, and Fester was bald, and you really don't want to end up bald do you?"

I was getting around to the directness of this approach; I just had a few rabbit trails to trip down first.

"Fester was bald?" one of the other people asked.

"Fester from "The Adams family,"" I replied. "He was bald."

"What does Fester have to do with your medical workup?" Dr. Hank asked.

Why is my logic never understood?

"It doesn't have anything to do with my _blood_; it has to do with you going bald if you avoid stuff. The professor can pull off being bald, but a big, blue, furry guy like you?" I let the image of a Beast with absolutely no hair on top of his head play into the imaginations of anyone who was listening.

There was an absolute silence.

I felt more eyes than just Dr. Hank's on me as I stood there. You know, in my head that logic seemed ten times more—logical than it did when it came out of my mouth and just laid there.

"I'm confused," one of them admitted.

"Be glad that you are; I think I understand, and that worries me more."

Sighing, Dr. Hank shook his head.

"So, was there anything—odd about my blood, or did I just waste your time?"

"Yes to both," the grumpy guy in white answered with an annoyed voice.

I flicked my eyes in the direction of the voice and wrestled down the urge to roll my eyes. After that run in with Northstar (the man whose head broke my cell phone?), I had to remember _not_ to tick anyone off until I knew what they were capable of doing.

"There was nothing—abnormal _in_ your blood, no."

I narrowed my eyes slightly at his cryptic answer and shifted through the words in my mind. He said there wasn't anything weird _in_ my blood. I didn't know if blood had an outside, but dang it, I was going to beat this dead horse into the ground until I got answers that made sense.

"Was there anything abnormal?" I chopped off the specifics, and I could see him trying to piece together another political answer. You know, the kind of answers that are long and boring but tell you absolutely _nothing_.

There was a deep sigh. "Yes."

My stomach dropped to my feet, rolled across the floor, and then up into the trashcan.

"And?"

"Shall we discuss this later?" he suggested. "Alone?"

"Later? Later never comes around here." I was somewhere between full out whining and completely frustrated. "Later, this place could be blown up or shot or beamed to the middle of the sun."

"_That_ is the first logical sentence she has said since opening her mouth," grumpy guy remarked.

Dr. Hank finally agreed to speak to me then and led me into a small break room off the lab.

He propped himself on the table and threaded his fingers together. It was the normal stance of a doctor who was going to try and discuss something that was, more than likely, over one's intelligence.

"So, you finally are curious about the changes," he remarked more to himself than to me. "When you arrived, there were two distinct differences in your medical records. Firstly, you had—lost an inch or so off your height."

My mouth dropped slightly, and my eyes widened.

"I _shrunk_?" And here I thought everyone was just a bit taller than I remembered them! My head was swirling with the idea that I –I _shrunk_. I wasn't supposed to do that until I was eighty!

He hesitated. "Yes. Putting this simply, my theory is that while you were caged, your mutancy rewrote part of your physical makeup in order to change and survive in the new, smaller environment."

"Okay," I answered slowly after he paused. There wasn't anything I could do about it now. Not like protesting it would help me regain my height! "Is there any chance that I could grow again?"

"Your powers are one of the less predictable types," Dr. Hank explained, crossing his arms. "The height loss in itself was boggling enough, but the fact that you also are producing more blood than normal just adds another dimension of unknown factors to the equation."

"How is that even _possible_?" I asked, gesturing with my hands like a crazy bird. Then I realized I was talking to a man who used to look like a teddy bear but now looked more like a lion with blue fur who was also able to understand most mathematics and sciences that came his way.

Oh, and the fact he has a time-displaced _clone_ too.

And I found a little extra blood unbelievable?

He stared at me for a moment. I groaned and dug the heels of my hands into my eyes. Why is _nothing_ ever easy when it comes to these people? Why the heck was I even one of 'these' people?

Then another thought popped in my mind like a pimple before prom.

"Why don't I look like that blueberry girl offa Willy Wonka?"

He plucked his glasses off the bridge of his nose and rubbed where they had been sitting with his other hand.

"Have you been borrowing movies from Bobby's DVD collection again?" he questioned, bemusedly. "What 'blueberry girl' are you referring to?"

"The one that chewed the gum and swelled up! You know, 'Violet, you're turning violet, Violet!'" I quoted. "If my body _shrunk_ and is producing _more_ blood, shouldn't I look like a—a red blueberry?" One would think with all the cooking I had been doing, I would have known a red fruit to name, but I was still trying to not picture myself as a giant red ball with my hands flapping and Umpaloompas singing around me.

"Am I going to _explode!_" I squeaked in fear.

Dr. Hank snorted in amusement at my panicked question. "No, Kookie, you will not explode. Your body has been resetting itself for months now, and though you might have extra blood, you also have been having more than average blood loss."

My eyebrows kissed in the middle of my forehead. "Huh?"

"Just—trust me on this."

I snapped my mouth shut and thought over what I had just learned. If I had been really _thinking,_ I would have made my way out of the lab before he could ask me anything in return.

"Now that I have answered _your_ question, Kookie, would you return the favor and answer me as to why you suddenly became interested in this topic?"

I stuttered out a lame excuse about how I was just watching something on some channel and blah blah blah. Pretty much, it was one of those totally incoherent explanations that left Dr. Hank sighing heavily.

"And you were worried about _me_ going bald because of avoiding?"

Touché, Doc, touché.

Then I realized, if my blood was _reacting_ to my situation, that woulda meant my powers were never turned off. If they weren't turned off, how come I couldn't just bust out of the cage whenever I felt like it?

"Why would I produce _more_ blood?" I wondered aloud. "Why couldn't I free myself?"

Dr. Hank cleared his throat to gain my splintered attention again.

"I believe they were—harvesting your blood. If they were, they probably weren't too concerned about proper timing between draws or about the amount they took."

I blinked blankly at him.

Then my eyes expanded with understanding. I subconsciously started to rub the bend in my right arm, as if the needles were still there. Flickers of memories produced themselves like photographs in my mind.

Screaming, fighting, and causing a problem for everyone who came near me was how I handled it at first.

Yes, yes, I remembered. The first few times they drug me to the lab I raised hell along the way. They couldn't inject me with sedatives because they needed me _pure_.

My head started to throb as the images seemed to pick up intensity, hitting me in all the senses at once. The memories overwhelmed me as the taste of blood in my mouth, the sight of Fortune and her lab cronies plugging me into a machine and then shoving needles in my skin, the feel of the cold, steel gurney against my exposed flesh, the stench of chemicals and her perfume, and the sounds of my protests mingled in with her assurance it was for the best.

I couldn't take it.

My brain was on overload as memories danced around a fire of my present. The demons I was trying to avoid were lurking in the shadows of those memories.

I felt a hand on my back, and then I was sitting down. My thoughts were whirling around like trailers in a tornado.

Somewhere in the chaos, I could hear a voice, distant and muddled, telling me to breathe and to come back to the present. I couldn't tell what was and wasn't real and if I was dreaming up being home or if I was I was being sucked back into the Redeemers.

Reality and the past were in harmony and at war.

"_AHH!_" I screamed out, gripping the sides of my head with my hands and doubling over.

There had been an intense stab into my brain that jerked me rudely and roughly from my thoughts and into the focus of pain.

Panting, I realized I was staring at the ground and there were murmurs above me. I blinked and slowly looked up toward the voices.

Everyone from the lab and Emma stood around me. Their expressions ranged from indifferent to worried.

Embarrassment flared in my face as I wished the floor would just eat me like a ham sandwich.

I shakily drew myself up to a sitting position, my brain desperately checking all its skills to come up with some sort of excuse that would save my sinking pride.

"Are you all right?" the lady doctor questioned, kneeling down in front of me.

_Think, Kerry! THINK_,I screamed at myself.

"Uh, yes." My voice was quaking. I cleared my throat, plastered a smile on my face, and gave a highly nervous, short laugh. "What happened?"

Dr. Hank sighed. Emma made an insulted noise in the back of her throat.

I had caused them trouble again. The sharp pain was the only way Emma could get me out of my illusion (or so she said) and back to reality. I had Dr. Hank and Dr. Rao (the pretty older lady with dark skin) both quizzing me, and I was able to dance around most of those questions with vague answers or a shrug of my shoulders.

What had happened was being written down. I couldn't give anyone anything until it was the best time for me to do so. I had to keep my journaling of what I had been through a secret until the rest of my plan had come about.

* * *

"Eat it or _starve_," I snapped, "but at least stop complaining that you're hungry."

Julian's eyes narrowed. "How do I know it isn't poisoned?"

I shook my head and pinched the bridge of my nose with my thumb and pointer finger. This guy was a walking argument for birth control. "Because along with Hot Pockets and mustard, we are also out of rat poison and cyanide."

Someone tried to hold in their laughter, but a giggle or two got out.

On the counter between Julian and I was a plate with two pieces of toast, eggs, and several slices of bacon. Everyone _else_ didn't have a complaint about what was being made from my efforts.

"Hey, if you don't want it—" Jimmy reached slowly for Julian's plate, but Julian snatched it away.

I raised an eyebrow at him.

Grumbling, he walked away to one of the empty chairs.

Jimmy looked at me with a cocky smile, and I returned it before going back to work.

I wasn't cooking breakfast for everyone out of some sort of crooked concern. Oh no, I was doing it because the cook had been scared witless. First, Mercury decided to slither out of the drain, and then Julian thought it would be funny to rearrange the kitchen appliances while the cook was working. The poor old man ran out of the room screaming in Italian that was translated into something about ghosts and the evil eye.

I would never have volunteered (in fact I really didn't at first, but when Miss Rogue started to ask where the cayenne pepper was, I decided to offer) if I had known how freaking _picky_ and suspicious _some_ people were.

Not one to feel comfortable in a kitchen that was bigger than my bedroom, I had decided to reroute breakfast time to the ground floor kitchenette-living room area.

There were about thirty people awake and in-house. That is a _lot_ of eggs to fry and a ton of toast to try not to burn. Dr. Hank eventually came to help me out and took over caring for eggs and omelets.

Then we got those who thought we were some sort of diner and started to put in _orders_ for what they did and did not want. Only egg whites for this person, no bell pepper for another, strictly vegetarian for someone else-_I_ was considering running from the kitchenette screaming something about ghosts and evil eyes when the unusual happened.

"Good job, Kookie."

I froze like Bobby had just iced me over.

A—compliment?

"Th-thanks," I answered, trying to convince my arms to _function_. For some reason, I heard a few others make noises in agreement to what was said.

Okay, so that was a _good_ thing right?

So, why did I feel tears start to sting my eyes? I didn't want anyone to _see_ me getting all red-eyed, so I grabbed a few of the dirty dishes that had been left on the counter top and piled them up next to the sink.

Sam had elected himself to wash the dishes, since the dishwasher would have exploded if it had to keep up with the demand. Anole (lizard lad) had taken up the position of drying the dishes, and it was _he_ who noticed my eyes after I caught his attention when I sniffled.

"Kookie, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah!" I lied. "It was just—you know, the _onions_."

He looked perplexed. "You didn't cut up the onions; Cess did."

Dang it!

"Well I was just, you know, thinking about them, and they always make me tear up." Okay, now it was time to see how fast I could dance outta this. "They are just such the perfect—vegetable. Heh, oh, wow, is the bacon getting low?"

I sighed with relief on the inside as I ripped open another package of bacon and without thinking, threw a few strips right into the boiling fat. When the new bacon hit the grease, it splashed.

Hissing in pain, I automatically covered the burned skin with my other hand. It got me on the inner wrist on my left hand, and it _stung_. At least now I had a really good cover story for the tears.

"Kerry? Are you alright?" Dr. Hank started over toward me, and I had a horrible thought of being stuck either in the med lab all day or having to find out just how much cayenne pepper Miss Rogue used for lunch.

"Perfect." I faked a smile. "But, I—have to go to the bathroom. Be right back!" I managed to get the apron off and headed to the nearest restroom.

Only after I had made it to the bathroom, locked the door, and turned on the faucet full blast did I dare to look at the offended skin. Dramatic images of blisters and burnt flesh didn't help the panic but when I looked down at my wrist—it wasn't red.

The places where the grease had spat on me was—it was _black_.

"Holy freakin' crap." I held my wrist at eye level and stared at it in complete disbelief. Dumbly, I walked backwards until my back touched the door; with my strength gone under the weight of the shock, I slumped down to the floor.

Black skin. Just like I used to have. Was my mutation reverting back to what it _had_ been?

A sickening thrill rose in me as I remembered my _wings_. Could I possibly even get those back?

"Focus, Ker, _focus_." I didn't even recognize my voice as I tried to calm myself down. With a deep breath and a hard swallow, I cradled my left arm in my lap, and shakily, I used my right hand to start to peel away the peach skin from around the black skin.

In a few rapid heartbeats, I was looking at my left arm, totally black, next to my normal skin of my right arm.

What should I do? Should I tell someone?

Again, I was plagued with a blended memory of Dr. Hank's lab and being confined in there and the Redeemers labs and cages. I felt what little bit of breakfast I had managed to get down rise in my throat. I didn't want to be locked up anywhere. I didn't want to be poked and prodded, not if I could help it.

So, I had to take care of this myself.

I had been trained to _know_ my skin and how to shift from one to another. Closing my eyes, I focused on my arm, pictured it growing paler and normal. I slowed my breathing, knowing that my mutation kicked into high gear whenever my adrenaline was being released.

I cracked open an eye and nearly laughed out loud when I saw my arms, side by side and matching.

It worked! I had done it! The place where the grease had splashed on me was as normal as the next place.

My first instinct was to let Dr. Hank and Dad know, but then the sneaky half of me sneered at the instinct. If I was to be able to get back on the team by following my initial plan, then I would have to have _something_ in the way of an ace up my sleeve.

I couldn't let them know. Not yet; not until I knew for sure I could be in uniform again.

* * *

"Back _again_?" Miss Rogue leaned back in her chair and smiled. "There's gotta be somethin' else you can do besides come down here and keep the watch dogs company."

I gave her the best smile my new, still-aching, teeth would allow.

"It's no problem. I finished making dinner, and I know that D—_Cyclops_ doesn't think anyone has a bladder or a stomach when they are in the Danger Room observatory."

She nodded in agreement and turned back to the windows and screens that let those in the room monitor the level of difficulty, basic vital signs, and so on of those who were trying to survive a Danger Room session. Best thing was that it was all being recorded.

I sat down carefully in the free chair. I didn't want to end up doing a back flip, since the chair back was broken when Bobby and I were goofing off together while he was on duty last week. We were able to rig it up so it looked like nothing happened, and so far**,** we hadn't been caught destroying X-Men property.

Wheeling gently next to Miss Rogue, I checked the screens and saw that, luckily, it was all the newbies in there.

Perfect.

Even though they _knew_ I had been a leader, they still treated me like an innocent know-nothing. No one seemed to think that I could be up to anything—_sneaky_.

But I was; boy, was I _ever_.

"What's for dinner, hon?" Miss Rogue asked, bored with watching Surge fry some random bad guy.

"Oh, something that Megan suggested I try to make." I made sure she turned her face slightly to me before I continued. "Something called 'mutton broth.' She said it is really popular in Wales."

"So you do requests?" she asked, taking the bait that I was dangling.

"Sure, I mean, as long as I can understand the recipe." I tried to play the could-care-less card, but I was like a kid at Christmas who was waiting for sunrise.

Miss Rogue keyed up her account in the computer and started to surf around the web, looking for what, I didn't care**, **as long as she was logged in. When she finally found something she was interested in, Miss Rogue called me over to read over a recipe.

"Fried chicken?" I questioned, somewhat dumbfounded at something so simple being requested. After a short trip down her memory lane, she went to print it off**, **and I smiled. The printer icon popped up, alerting her it was out of paper.

She grumbled.

"No one fills it up when they've sucked it dry!" she ranted, standing. "Ah'll have to go to the supply closet; be right back." She stopped at the door, and with a weak smile, added, "Make sure no one, you know, _dies_ while Ah'm gone."

I nodded. "Sure!"

As the doors _swooshed_ closed behind her, I could almost _hear_ the theme song from _Mission: Impossible_ start to play. Without a second to spare, I opened the cd reader, dropped in the blank DVD I had been hiding in the pocket of my sweatshirt, and closed it again.

I had been doing this for a week— tricking people into signing onto their accounts all because I wanted to access Cerebra. I finally got a limited account when I pointed out that I needed to know people's allergies so I didn't accidently kill them. Dad and Emma both seemed to think it was an innocent and honest enough request and granted it.

I was able to get the basic information: name, height, allergies, and powers, but I really needed to see the files in Cerebra.

Typing in a codename, the system pulled up a large folder, and I made sure to pick the files that had notes attached to them. I quickly selected several and dropped them onto the disc and commanded it to burn the DVD.

I knew the supply closet Miss Rogue was going to go to first was out of paper. I had made sure of it. I had several boxes of blank computer paper stacked up in the back shower stall of the pool's female locker room.

This was the only computer that wouldn't keep records of when, how many, or was burned. Due to the nature of the training, it was considered the archive, and those who wanted to could review their Danger Room sessions. The ones with notes were the ones that the students asked to be critiqued by Scott or other 'upperclassmen'.

I was mentally ticking down the time it would take Miss Rogue to find the paper and her way back here, if no one stopped her. Just when I started to get antsy, the disc drive popped open, I closed the windows to Cerebra, the disc was placed under my shirt, and everything was just as it was when Miss Rogue left.

Half a minute later, the Southern lady came waltzing in, waving a pack of paper triumphantly in her hand.

"Had to go all the way to the third floor, but Ah found some!"

I left about an hour later with a rather thick stack of papers and a cat-like grin on my face.

* * *

The following Monday I bumped open the door to Scott and Emma's office, dropped a stack of papers on Dad's desk, and handed a handful of phone messages to Emma. **(**

They hadn't really been questioning their good luck with me actually playing the part of secretarial slave.

She flipped through the little sticky notes and was able to decipher my chicken scratch hand writing. When I didn't leave, she gave me a rather bored look.

"Yes?"

"I was going to let you know that we need more groceries, the second floor bathrooms have been clogging and flooding the rooms. Oh! Stan the stalker is on line three."

If she had been a cat, you could have seen her back arch and fur stand straight up on end at the mention of Stan.

"Why must you always let him through?" Emma glared at me and then her phone. "You hang up on _Tony Stark_ but allow this psychopathic bottom dweller to take up my time."

"Stark, stalker, sounds really close, don'tcha think? I figured if he got what he wanted, he wouldn't bother you anymore. After all, there is just _so_ much a person can take." _Of you_ was my unspoken ending to that sentence. Even though I didn't say it, the way the crystal blue eyes narrowed on me let me know she heard it.

I knew Scott was doing his best to physically stay out of it, but doubtless, she was connected to him psychically and growling about my treatment of her.

Sucks to be the 'bigger' person sometimes, doesn't it, Emma?

"You know where the food credit card is kept. Also, get a plumber to look at the pipes. Deal with Stan; him to stop calling, it's harassment**, **and _stop_ letting him through to my office line." Emma drummed her nails against the top of her, and I merely nodded, turned heel, and walked out of the office.

Dropping in my chair, I picked up the phone, jabbed the button that took Stan off of hold, and gave a questioning hello.

"I'm still here; what did she say?"

"Miss Frost would like you to know that calling her office phone is considered harassment, so please stop doing it."

"I—can't call her anymore?" He sounded so heartbroken, so I took some devious sympathy on him.

"_Technically,_" I said with a smirk "she said not to let you through to her _office_ phone, so I'll give you her cell phone number instead."

* * *

When the X-people go grocery shopping, it is similar to a military invasion.

We have to huddle and decide to divide and conquer in an organized method. Since I was one of the cooks, I got bumped up to the rank of captain or something. I got to delegate some of the people. Don't get all worked up; it isn't a powerful thing, but I found out that when you threaten with food, you get results.

Wait, I knew that. I was threatened with lack of food (namely sugar), and I jumped through fire hoops.

Anyway, it was determined that three vans and two cars could be taken to get the best result**.**

Bobby, James, Miss Betsy, Sam, Miss Rogue, Mr. Remy, and I would go to the really,_ really_ big grocery store that was about forty-five minutes away from the complex. Mr. Logan and Hisako would take care of the Asian market that was further in town and, of course, the beer. Mr. Logan _always_ took care of the beer. Miss Allison, Pixie, Anole, and Jean-Paul would hit the wholesale warehouse for the items needed in bulk.

You may notice that Scott and Emma (along with several others) weren't mentioned. For some reason, some of the people considered it almost a prison term to go shopping for food, lug it into the kitchen area, and unload all of it.

When I said 'grocery shopping' they all got the speed of the Roadrunner and disappeared. For this reason a duty list had to be drawn up (by yours truly) that Scott agreed to stand behind (mainly because he wasn't on it very often; I want my sweets).

The real pain for me was the thirteen-page, double-columned, point type grocery list I had to make. Alongside most of the items were preferred brands, how many to buy**, **and so on.

Don't even make me mention the two-inch thick stack of coupons Bobby was toting. Who knew Mr. Public Accountant was such an Edward Scissorhands when it came to coupons in the newspapers! I have watched the man in action**, **and to tell the truth, it's frightening.

Coupons were nice to save money, but when you think about it, a company kills acres of trees every day in order for someone to save fifty-five cents on their toilet paper. Somehow, I just don't see this striking a balance.

After getting to the store, splitting up the list, and dividing to conquer the list, I remembered why I didn't like shopping. Sam and Bobby kept participating in cart races, Mr. Remy wanted to get the 'spicy' stuff, James and Miss Rogue where ignoring the lists and throwing in anything that promised to be loaded with sugar, and Miss Betsy spent the entire time on her phone.

Then Bobby, once he was tired of losing to Sam, started to go on and on about how coupons could probably end domestic disputes. Insisting that most fights were about money, and coupons _save_ money, it seemed like the perfect solution. Also, clipping coupons could be a bonding time for the family and blah blah blah.

I just rolled my eyes. I had heard this speech a million times. It made a certain amount of sense, but most things did sound better in theory than in practice.

It wasn't until we were alone in the cereal aisle that something popped out of my mouth before my brain could process it (like normal).

"What are we?" I questioned, leaning against the cart, marking things off the list.

"Huh?" I looked up to meet his eyes. The gears were turning in his mind about how to take that question.

No, I wasn't going philosophical, scientific, or any other long, deep vein.

"What are _we_?" I gestured between us, using the pen in my hand. I had to fight with myself to keep from laughing it off and saying something like 'just kidding' because I really did want to know.

There was a relieved sigh, but then panic slammed back into him as he scratched behind his ear in a nervous manner.

"Well, I—_we_ are—shopping," he finished lamely. "Hey!" he yelped as the pen I had been holding made contact with his forehead.

"You know what I _mean_!" I glared but then looked away, using total female guilt power.

"But if you aren't willing to answer, then I kinda can guess." With that said, I pushed the overflowing cart forward, toward the end of the aisle.

Even if I didn't get an answer right away, at least I got him thinking about it, right?

* * *

"That is the _last_ time I am going shopping with you two," James muttered a day later, when most of the people in the complex were sitting around the living area that was in front of the kitchen Dr. Hank and I used most often.

Mr. Remy and Miss Rouge were regaling to everyone the latest Coupon Crusader (Bobby) versus Cashier Kid (whose name was Vicky).

"Hey, it expired _on_ the date, not the day before," Bobby defended.

"You made her _cry_," Miss Betsy pointed out before popping a cherry tomato in her mouth.

"The coupons made her cry, not me."

The cashier girl saw him whip out the phonebook thick pack of coupons, and a look of utter horror crossed her face. It was sad, really, because she had only worked there for about two weeks.

"And besides, we saved, what, like two hundred dollars! And I didn't even bring the comp ads!"

I rolled my eyes and passed the ketchup to Hisako.

Hunger really wasn't something I had room to feel with the tight, steel ball of anxiety squashing my stomach. Today was going to be the day. Mr. Logan said I was ready. I had studied and memorized all that I could. All that was left was to actually go and _demand_ (yeah, right) to be heard by Dad—er—Cyclops.

Of _course_, Emma and he weren't eating with us peasants tonight; they were at some fancy restaurant for dinner. When I had asked to speak with him earlier, Dad told me that he'd be back by eight.

Checking the clock, I saw it was only six.

The next two hours seemed to last forever. I had completed the dishes, cleaning up and then started to pace like an expectant father until I heard Emma's voice in the main, glass-domed hall.

I watched like a spy as they kissed and divided. I followed Dad to one of the living rooms located on the first floor.

I ran my fingers through my short hair and let out the breath I had been holding. I could do this. I could _do_ this! I could so _totally_ do this.

The door _swished _open, and there sat Dad, one arm slung across the back of the sofa as he flipped through the channels on the TV.

I could do this; I could do this.

My plan had come to its frenzied finale.

He _had _to know I had come in (he was _Cyclops_ after all, he was creepily aware like that), but he didn't acknowledge me in any way.

Taking a deep breath, I felt my courage sinking into a lake of fear. I used all my strength to get my fearful body to move until I stood between the television and the coffee table that Dad had propped his feet on.

He glanced up at me, an eyebrow raised. "Something you need, Kookie?"

A spine would have been nice, but I was able to retrieve that rock of courage from the bottom of my fear and threw it up into the air. Either it was going to turn into Cloud Nine of Success, or it was going to turn into the Anvil of Failure and squish me.

"Yes," I started, surprised by the steady and strong tone of my voice. "I do want something. I want a chance."

Just like Bobby, confusion became evident for a tick of a second hand before being dropped into a mask of indifference.

"A chance for what?"

"To prove myself. I want back on the team." The television got clicked off in an instant. My heart was screaming with anxiety and fear.

"I—don't think you're ready."

"_That's_ what I want to prove. I want to show you that I _am_ ready." With my powers from before the kidnapping incident coming back, I was feeling more and more sure of myself-just not right at that moment.

Scott climbed to his feet and looked down at me, his arms crossed, his face not betraying his thinking in any way (totally not fair!). I kept my eyes locked on the lenses of his glasses and my hands fisted at my sides to keep them from shaking.

"You _really_ think so?" His tone was almost—sarcastic. "Fine, suit up. You'll _prove_ yourself in the Danger Room in five minutes." With that, he turned on his heel and left the room, which wasn't a bad thing, since I hit my knees and started to pant from holding my breath too long.

Five minutes?

* * *

So, that's how I got from there to here— getting strangled by the living rock boy. He had just told me I was going to lose, I muttered something under my breath, and he dragged me closer to his face. I faked a struggle for a few more seconds before I raised a clawed hand and swiped it with all my force on his face.

His instinct was to protect his face and drop me. I hit the ground and took off into the tree line. I knew he was invulnerable, I learned that much from the files I had read, but I also studied his reactions in the Danger Room. Turned out he still has very instinctive reactions, such as flinching when his face was going to be attacked.

It wasn't until I had shimmied up a tree that I went black. There was no shedding like when my mutation first started; I simply changed colors like a mood ring. I was grateful for this, since having to pick up dead skin after every transformation was a bit disgusting.

Scott pitted me against the newbies, just as I thought he would, since they were still training and I was ranked with them. Hellion, Rockslide, Surge, Armor, X-23, and Anole were my opponents. The goal or "mission" was they bring me down, while I had to either last five minutes against the six or decommission them by stealing or destroying their com-badges.

I pressed my body as close as I could to the tree I was hiding in. Though it was dark, I could see pretty clearly (another thing I had been silent about). I watched as Surge split the team into pairs, and she even pointed directly at Julian, and he glared at whatever she said (I could _see_ in the near dark, not hear any better).

A design to bring them down formulated in my brain as they started off in different directions. Julian and Laura were going the furthest from me, Noriko and Rock-head were closer, but it was Hisako and Anole who were the closest.

I could see why Surge did this. Julian, rock boy, and Hisako were all pretty much invulnerable with their powers, while Noriko, Laura, and Anole were able to attack without being noticed too much until it was too late.

_Clever, clever girl_, I thought in mild appreciation of at least someone taking me seriously.

I brought all that Anole (Victor is his real name but I rarely heard it used) and Hisako were capable of doing on the field to the front of my mind. The green guy was able to blend in like a chameleon, regenerate body parts, had a sticky tongue, able to crawl walls, super fast agility, speed, reflexes, and coordination.

And here I couldn't even flip a pancake in a pan without scraping it off the ceiling or floor.

Hisako, when Armor, was faster and harder to hit.

I narrowed my eyes and listened for _anything_ that would tattle on their location.

/_Anything?_/ I beamed. That was the problem of being without a mind-reader; they would have to rely on their com-badges, which made them oh so much easier to find.

Initially, I had mine turned on, to keep me in contact with the control room, but I reached up and clicked it off after hearing its liability.

Creeping down the tree, I scanned the immediate area; I heard an annoyed sigh and a response.

"Wouldn't you _hear_ us fighting her, if there was anything?" Anole replied sharply.

Spotted them; Hisako was walking around without her armor, and Anole was right beside her.

"What is so important about her that Cyclops thinks it takes _six_ of us to take her down?"

Hisako shrugged, her eyes searching the area as they walked.

"I don't know. She hasn't actually _done_ anything since she came here but complain and cook."

_Hmmph_, _see if I ever make you chocolate raspberry muffins again_, I thought and then remembered I wasn't here to eavesdrop but win. They weren't taking this too seriously, obviously, and that just made me want to prove to them why they needed more than one person to beat me.

I hoped.

I twisted my hand, so my claw-tipped fingers were ready to strike (I toldja my powers were coming up and out in force and without me telling Dr. Hank-I can't _wait_ to hear the lectures that'll be coming about _that_).I had to get to Hisako, no, Armor first. I couldn't think of her as someone I knew. She was the enemy now.

I crouched down, picked up a stick, and really hoped this old trick _worked_.

Making sure I didn't throw it too hard, I flung the stick to the back and left of the pair after they patrolled past me.

The second the stick made a decibel of noise, they both turned toward the sound and Armor powered up.

"I'll go check it out," Armor said, stepping toward the place the noise was made.

Anole was tense, but he didn't think of being attacked from below. With the swiftness training with Wolverine had taught me, I balanced on one leg while lashing out the other in a semicircular motion, catching the boy behind the knees.

He made an '_umph_' sound as he landed on his back, and before he could gather his senses, I straddled him and knocked him out with a very sound punch to the face. Vicious, but I had to be. I snatched his badge and leapt back into the underbrush.

That all took about seven seconds. It was enough time to have Armor notice but not react. I held the badge and had another idea blossom into my brain. Smirking, I flicked my own red and black badge off and replaced it with Anole's black and gold one. I positioned it in the same location that X-23 kept hers.

/_Anole's down!_/ Armor sounded frantic over the com link, and I had to fight down the urge to laugh like a maniac.

Instead of rejoicing, I slithered through the trees, low and fast, as quietly as I could while looking for Surge and Rockslide.

I might be better than I was**, **but I wasn't stupid enough to think I could take on and _win_ against X-23.

I caught sight of something moving in the shadows a breath before I yelped and was one part of a two-person body roll. There was a nasty knee to my stomach, a fist to the face**, **and a snarl.

Instinct rather than instruction kicked in as I felt my adrenaline, like whiskey, burn through my body. X-23 was on top of me, about to land her final blow, when I did the hardest, fastest sit up in my life up to that point and probably _after_ it, too. I angled my head so it would connect with her nose, and in that instant, she let up a fraction, and I was able to escape from beneath her.

Her howl of pain and then growls of anger filled the air, and I felt fear prick my skin. I didn't dare dance around to challenge my luck to hold; I found one of the tallest trees I could and shot up the trunk like a cat escaping a pack of dogs.

/_She has black skin,_/ Laura voice came through the badge, and I swallowed hard. /_And no scent_./

I about fell outta the tree after I heard her say that. No scent? Then how did she find-? Who cared, she _did_— that was the point.

I was _so _glad I had turned _my_ badge off and tucked it into my uniform. The control room was probably humming with questions after X-23 dropped the bomb about my skin.

/_Four minutes, ten seconds,_/ the intercom blasted. It was Emma's voice, and it was _not_ a happy Emma voice.

Then again, happy would probably be an ugly color on that woman.

From the safety of my tree, I saw Hellion regroup with X and watched as they went the opposite of the direction I ran. No idea _why_— they just did. I needed to find Surge. She was a long distance fighter and had a power I was familiar with handling. She had even mentioned studying with Chris while he was at the school.

If I could _use_ her, then I could take out someone, hopefully X, and then I wouldn't need to worry about the Wolverine girl again. Well, at least for this exercise.

As if she acted on my wishes, Surge suddenly appeared in all her sparky, speedy glory.

It was like lightning on the ground, watching as Surge used her super speed to light up various areas of the forest. In the small clearing where we started, sat a very unhappy Anole. Couldn't blame him; I'd be mad, too.

_/I checked everywhere, I can't find her!_/ Rockslide muttered.

Surge said to keep looking as she stayed in the clearing, waiting to see if the others would flush me out, I supposed.

It was X I kept tabs on. I slowly made my way lower on the tree as quietly as claws and bark allowed. Hellion happened to pass beneath me a few seconds later, and without a second thought, I launched off the tree and surprised him from behind (and above).

I landed on him, his knees buckling under the unexpected weight, and down we went. His face was slammed into the ground. I rolled off of him, got up, grabbed his shoulder to turn him around, and when I did, I got slammed by a wall of air.

I went flying across the clearing, slamming into the ground on my back, rolling and finding my footing a second later on my hands and feet. Hey, training with Wolverine, you get good at being thrown around and recovering.

Armor came running from the right side, and with a growl, I launched myself at her, but not an attack. I used her armored head to hold onto as I leap-frogged over her and back into the forest.

_That _was my last great maneuver because a minute later, I was face down in the dirt due to a punch by Rockslide. If that wasn't bad enough, I also had a growling X-23 on my back.

/_Game over,_/ came Emma's voice over the PA system again.

Pain shot through my body, every nerve oversensitive to its very _existence_. Laura stepped off of me, and I groaned as I pushed my top half out of the dirt. When my vision cleared, I saw a hand extended in a silent offer to aid me up. I accepted it and clambered to my feet, meeting Noriko eye-to-eye.

"Not bad," she said with a small smile.

Hellion walked by with the devil's own smile and stated, "Loser."

I was spitting out blood, but I turned, glaring holes into him as he _sauntered_ away. I thought only Gambit had the right to do that after a fight. I could not _wait _to beat the stupid out of Hellion, if ever I was given the chance.

/_Kerry_, _control room. __**Now**__._/

I tensed instantly. Oh yeah, I had forgotten about the watchers.

* * *

The room was completely empty except for Cyclops, now in full uniform, leaning against the main control panel with his arms crossed. That was like the cobra-playing-possum position for him.

The doors hissed shut behind me, and I felt my heart curl into a little pearl before it slammed the oyster of fear shut, locking itself inside.

I _failed_. I was feeling bad already that all my hard work had come to nothing. I didn't need to play 20 questions or have it rubbed in at this moment. While Surge had openly expressed that she was impressed by my performance during the exercise, I doubted many carried the same feelings of awe.

I had gotten three badges before being taken down _hard_.

All I wanted to do was to collect the taping of the session and go over and over it until I could figure out how I could improve.

"Sit."

"No thanks," I muttered, keeping my eyes tailored away from him.

"Suit yourself." I heard him type and dared to look in his direction. The monitors that usually showed the Danger Room had my mug splashed across them.

My eyebrows lowered in annoyance. Why the heck did they need to blow up pictures to that size _anyway_?

"Read it and tell me if it is accurate," Cyclops ordered, glancing at me. "You've been keeping secrets, and if you are assigned back on a team in the future, I have to know what you are capable of in order to best utilize you."

My clammed up heart sank into the black ocean in my gut.

The 'future' could be tomorrow, or it could be _years_ from now. I didn't want to stay around here being of no purpose or use until _he_ thought I was ready.

I stepped closer, reading and correcting various parts of my profile.

"I don't know for sure, but I think I have—nightish vision."

"I'll have Hank check on that," Cyclops replied simply.

When I looked back to the top of the page, I saw my old codename in bold, red, and enlarged letters: 'Blight'. I had been bored and looked up the actual word (though it wasn't the reason I picked the name), and I nearly fell out of my chair.

The definition of _blight_ was disease, stain, scar, etc. ooooor disfigure, damage, afflict, etc. I felt like it was just rubbing in the fact that I was more than a mutant, I was a mutant who was damaged goods-scarred from my wings being taken, damaged from the time with the Redeemers, and afflicted with _living_ some days.

"Can I –just get rid of that?" I pointed to my codename.

Cyclops must have had a million questions but only one came out, "To what?"

"I don't know, just –not _that_."

I watched as the screen popped up with an override command and a request for a password, and then I watched as Blight was deleted, letter by letter. My legal name filled up the spot instead.

No more Blight; now there was only Kookie N. Summers.

Sadness washed over me, cooling my anger and aching muscles.

"Well," I forced out in a normal voice, "guess I'll be going." I rounded to leave, but his voice stopped me.

"I'm putting you back on the training roster. Make sure you check to see the schedule in about an hour."

That cooled anger was zapped back to life. I had a growl waiting to rumble sitting in my throat, but I held it in as I turned to face him. "I didn't complete the time _and_ I didn't get _all_ their badges. I didn't hold my end of the deal so, I don't need a pity prize."

Crossing my arms caused a rather sound reminder of just how sore I really was from the exercise. I did my best not to let it show— who knows if it actually _worked_.

"I would never risk anyone else's life on _pity_," Cyclops affirmed. "I am not offering this out of pity. It's more or less out of respect for the drive you have to get back on the team. I see it as an acknowledgement of your resolve and hard work."

I felt my eyes enlarge in surprise.

Did—did he just say, in some covered up way, that—I did _well_?

"Will that reasoning work?" he questioned, a bit sarcastically.

All I could do for a few seconds was blink at him dumbly.

"Y-yes."

"Good. You'll start in the morning." He paused, I guess he thought I was going to moan, groan, and try to argue the point, and when I didn't, he continued. "That means six sharp, so make sure Logan doesn't keep you past time."

My eyes bugged out again. He _knew_ about my training with Wolverine? He _knew_ and didn't say anything? Didn't try to stop it?

At my surprise, he leaned back against the wall, crossed his arms, and put one ankle over the other. He had a triumphant and a bit conceited expression on his face.

"Nothing happens with my X-Men that I don't know about," Cyclops explained coolly.

I nodded, and he excused me. It was after I was in the hall that a wicked little grin crossed my lips.

That was the last high note in my life to come for a while. I wish someone would have told me to duck and cover; life was going to be coming at me with a _tank_.

QUESTION: Do you want faster updates (meaning shorter chapters) OR stay the same with lengthy chapters and long periods between updates? Thanks! :D


	7. Answers

**Why Me**

** Chapter 007**

* * *

Authoress's note:

Once again, a _big_ thank you goes out to my _wonderful_ beta-reader who puts up with my common incorrect commas, speech deciphers, and everything else. Who is she you ask? Why the beyond measure: **ZeldaAddict42**! I forget to mention her from time to time, but I _do_ appreciate her time and talent _so_ much. She has made Kerry a better story due to her patience and wonderful kindness. : D Thank you **ZeldaAddict42**!

To the _lovely_ readers: I tried to go as fast as I could while making it as interesting as I could. I don't think it's been three months...so I hope this'll make y'all smile! :D

* * *

You know how some questions don't really _have_ answers? Or at least not just one answer that is simple and summed up in one, universally accepted sentence?

Things like, "why we are here?"

Or "why do people die?"

_Those_ are questions that have had people in heated debates and wars for _centuries_.

Then there are those rhetorical questions that you don't really ever mean to get solid answers to.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Do I _look_ that stupid to you?"

_Those_ questions are just brushed off without going into any great depths unless the answerer wants to get into some sort of fight.

_Then_ there are questions that you really _don't_ want answered, so you never ask them. You just allow your morbid curiosity to feed ideas to your vivid, darkly-colored imagination and see what mini-horror movies it can concoct.

Of _course_, then there is information you'd rather just stick a sharpened pencil into your ear drums than to ever hear. These types of unwarranted answers are usually tossed out by someone who is either cruel, naïve, or just suicidal.

My question was, I thought, _not_ so terrible. It was a simple rhetorical question that I never expected anyone to take seriously or even _think_ too much on.

Oh no, leave it to the X-Men to sit down and ponder things like that.

Two very simple and basic words of the English language that have been tossed together since—well, since probably the beginning _of_ the English language: why me.

That's _it— _ that's _all_ I had asked for _months_. It wasn't asked out loud, but it was one that seemed to radiate offa me like heat from a running motor.

Those who sought the answers, I can only fathom, decided that my pitiable little question needed to be investigated after I made the team.

I earned my spot to train; it wasn't handed to me this time. With my interest in this came an interest in my recent past, dealing with the Redeemers.

Ignoring the pokes from the medical club living in the basement and the constant questions from those who were in charge, I decided I needed to create a routine I could control. So, like clockwork, I would get up early to train with Mr. Logan, then go to team training, shower, and cook. It was a snug schedule that I was enjoying. It got me, mainly, away from Emma and Scott some days.

The trouble all really started when I answered a call from Chris.

I choked on my orange slice and it _burned _as it flipped around in my throat. Coughing as tears came to my eyes, I had to suck in a few harsh breaths before I was finally able to manage a, "What!"

"You heard me," Chris stated simply. "There have been robberies. I was doing some updating to their systems and I found missing files. Then the office chief had to explain it to _his_ boss, who I told about the missing files. Apparently, some of the—_deposits_ have gone missing, and someone is trying to cover it up."

"Let me put you through to Sco—"

"Can't, gotta go, _you_ tell them."

"What! No! Chri—"

"Bye, Ker," he nearly sung; then there was a click and the dial tone.

I sat back in my chair, the rest of the orange forgotten on the desk and my mouth hanging open slightly in shock. The phone was still pressed against my ear as confusion and embarrassment danced around together.

He—I-_no!_

There was just no _way_ I could talk about what he told me about with others and _live_. I would die of embarrassment!

_I wanted to be an X, so I need to tell them_, some part of me chided.

If I was too embarrassed about this, then what already happened was going to happen again. I took a deep breath, buzzed them that I needed to speak to them, and then stood up from my chair.

I felt the blush creep up my face and then get hotter. I did the only thing I could do before I entered—I made my skin go black. I was as black as ink so the red that was on my cheeks wouldn't show up.

At least I hoped.

"Is there anything wrong?" Dad asked, cocking his head to the side. "Why have you gone black?" He was leaning/sitting on Emma's desk with a paper in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

Emma was seated behind the desk with just a cup of coffee in her hands.

_Slacker_, I thought half-heartedly.

"_Well_," I said and then cleared my throat, "Chris called with news that _might_ be of interest."

"Don't leave us in suspense," Emma commented dryly.

I cleared my throat and due to the embarrassment, fought back the urge to cry or start laughing like a maniac.

"There seems to have been a series of –robberies." I kept darting my eyes between the two of them, for once cursing the fact that Emma couldn't read my mind. "From some—_special_ banks."

Dad tipped his head to the side. "What does that have to do with us?"

"Because they are, apparently, stealing only from m-mutants." If my hair could blush, it _would _have. "_Male_ mutants," I mumbled as an afterthought.

He put his coffee cup and papers down and crossed his arms over his chest. "How does Chris know that it is _just_ male mutants?"

I bit my lip, trying desperately to think of a song and dance that would get the message across without me actually having to spell it out.

"Uhm, because, in _this_ bank, only _males_ make—deposits." I started to rub the back of my neck nervously. "And only _females_ can make withdrawals."

They both gave me a blank stare (I'm assuming on Scott's part).

Pinching my eyes shut, I suppressed the urge to scream in frustration and shout out the nasty, painful things I intended to do to Chris for putting me in this situation.

I opened my eyes again and prepared myself to continue.

"Well, h-he was working on the bank's computers, and he saw that some of the files were missing. The only thing they had in common, besides using the bank and being male, was that they tested positive for the X-gene."

"Why would a bank need to test for the X-gene?" Emma questioned. "What kind of account prerequisites would require DNA?"

I face-palmed, dragged my hand down my face, and then licked my suddenly dry lips.

"This bank is _all_ about what's in the DNA—and bodily—fluids."

The two exchanged looks and Emma gave a shrug. I was praying it would get across what I was saying, but no lightbulb lit up over their heads.

"What is the name of the bank?"

"The," I muttered the next word, "Bank of the West Coast, San Francisco branch."

"The Bank of the West Coast?" Emma raised her eyebrows. "I have never heard of such an establishment."

"_Weeelll_, that's probably because you never sought out their—unique services before." I sincerely doubted that she had any problem getting, uhm, the 'deposits' for free from _very_ willing donors.

Emma put a finger to her one of her temples, her elbow on the edge of the desk, and leaned on it.

"Would you mind translating your cryptic drivel for those who do not have the time to decipher it?"

I rolled my eyes and huffed.

Taking in a breath, I then collected the words I needed for the explanation and spat them out as fast as possible.

"Chris said they are having robberies from the Sperm Bank of the West Coast, San Francisco branch. He knows this because he had to service their computers and found missing files. They had all been flagged because they were tested for various things, including the X-gene, and they were found positive. They weren't destroyed, they just went missing."

_That _little monologue would have been _plenty_ to get a grasp on the situation. Did I stop? _Nope_. My nerves and embarrassment went into vocal hyper drive (aka rambling).

"And if you think about it, it's kinda weird—and ick. Chris said he was sure because he goes there at least once a month. I don't know if it's for the computers or to be a donor—can you imagine –ugh, no, no I don't want to, but anyway, _if_ it wasn't the computers, then he'd be a donor—"

"Kookie."

"—and I don't want to think of the poor woman or _women_ who would have to live with Chris' mini-mes. I mean, he isn't horrid looking, but that would be just way _weird._ What if they grew up and _dated_? Do they _think_ about things like that or _not_? Is it a crime if the incest is accidental? And the inbreeding—!"

"Kerry."

"—I think I could honestly say that Chris would be the reason for stupidity taking over the—well, the _world_! All because he had too much times on his hands, wait no, don't want to think—gross! I just did and I can't believe he'd actually—"

"_KERRY_!"

I snapped my mouth shut and looked over at Dad, who looked amused and mortified at the same time. Emma looked like I just put a run in her nylons. I wanted to disappear.

"W-what?" I blinked at them like I had just broken free from a trance.

"Call Chris; tell him to come here at once." Emma was inspecting her nails in a bored manner before she gave me a level stare. "Can you manage that?"

"Yes?"

"Then go." I glanced over at Dad; he had his head turned, but I could tell his shoulders were shaking.

Great, at least I made the man _laugh_.

* * *

A few days later, I walked into Cerebra, where the three creepy Emma-teenage-clone girls, Cyclops, and Miss Rogue were waiting at the end of the platform. I slowed down; my creep-o-meter was dinging on high. As quickly as I could, I did a mental check of everything I had done in the past few weeks.

"Look, if this is about putting lemon juice in your milk—"

One of the blondes narrowed her glowing eyes. "No."

"This is to test a theory," Scott stated. "Cerebro and Cerebra couldn't pick up on your mutant signature; the Professor has also said that Danger is incapable of locating you. This is the problem-as we have encountered."

I gave him a flat stare. "Yeah, you might say that."

"Long story short, we need a way to track you if you are ever going to be of any real use to Summers' team. Or so _he_ says." came a none-too-happy voice from behind me. I turned to see Sir Crankus (Dr. Nemesis or Genesis or whatever the heck he calls himself. He's the grumpy grandpa in white.) walking up to and passed me.

Scott gave Nemesis his own pink sunglasses version of a glare and then turned back to me.

"Why not just tag me like they do cows?" I was nervous, and sarcasm is my sword of defense. Unfortunately, my tongue was more like a butter knife than a sword to Dad.

"_I_ suggested that but he insists that if you were caught, it'd be taken off of you."

I balked and stared disbelievingly at Dad. "You actually _considered_ that!"

Miss Rogue snickered, and Dad did his best to get this little appointment back on track.

"We need to be able to find you," he repeated. "I can't, in good conscience, let you go back out to the field without some way of finding you."

I looked from him, to the others, and back to him, waiting for some other explanation to come.

Miss Rogue took the cue and straightened up as she walked to me. "Basically, we are going to try dampening your powers to see if you'll register on Cerebra."

"Dampening?" I didn't like the sound of that.

"Yes," creepy blonde girl number one stated. "With your power levels lowered, we might be able to locate you."

I started to scratch at my arm nervously. "And how would you do that?"

"Ah'll absorb some of your powers, then we'll see if the Cuckoos can sense you."

Ooooohhh, _nooooo_.

I laughed uneasily as I started to back up from the green clad woman.

"Uhm, I—I think I'd rather the tag over _that_."

"This isn't an option Kerry; we _tried_ tagging you before and it was removed."

My eyebrows kissed in the middle of my forehead as I tried to recall when they might have done that. Sure, I passed out a lot back in Westchester, but I don't remember having something on me that wasn't there before when I woke up.

Except that one time when I woke up with wings but I really don't think Dad had _anything_ to do with that.

I sure as _heck_ don't remember having anything _removed_ from me when I was with the crazies in the complex.

"When?" I questioned, finally giving up on trying to figure it out for myself.

"You used to wear a necklace that had a specially made pendant on it," Scott explained, and my heart and face fell.

The necklace Bobby had given me with my Grandfather's pilot's wings on it. He told me that the small blue-green gem was something special; I guess I didn't question it being a small computer chip or whatever.

Miss Rogue moved closer to me and held out her hand. Putting away the whole Bobby-necklace issue, I studied her hand like it was supposed to do a trick.

"You can trust me, sugah."

"But don't you, like, suck out memories and things?" To say I felt uneasy was like saying Disney was famous for its rap music.

"Not if you keep your mind blank," she reassured.

I could just hear someone dying to make a comment about how easy that should be but instead, I heard silence.

Flicking my gaze over to Scott, who had his arms crossed over his chest, I swallowed hard. This ass what I wanted— to be part of the team. This is another test to see if I would take it on or if I'd run away laughing. Personally, I wasn't too fond of jumping through these microscopic flaming hoops to just show _someone_ I was serious.

Biting my lip, I reached out and gently touched her hand.

It felt totally weird! Like when you've lain on your arm too long and your arm falls asleep, but the tingling seemed to seep from my fingertips and, I guess, into her.

She pulled away and I felt my stomach complete a rather impressive acrobatic maneuver as I stumbled backward a few feet. Scott was suddenly beside me, to help keep me upright. I could _feel_ the difference. I felt almost, well, not naked but indecently exposed (kinda how Emma might feel in her bikini had she any modesty to speak of).

"Insterestin'," Miss Rogue commented, holding up her hand and watching it shift and fade to black and then back to tan.

"Girls?" Dad looked back at the creepy chicks after making sure I wasn't going to do a less than elegant swan dive off the platform.

"One moment, Mr. Summers," one of them said, and then like a string of Christmas lights, their eyes started to glow a brighter white.

Disturbed by them, I looked back at Miss Rogue and she made her fingernails twist into claws.

"Having fun?" I deadpanned.

"It's always amusin' to see what others have to play with and what they might be hidin'." She winked at me.

"Can I go now? I think I need to lie down—or bury my head in a carton of ice cream." I had a hand to my forehead, wondering why I felt a flu-like headache coat my brain.

Dad probably didn't think I noticed the quick shrug from Nemesis when he looked over at him. Whatever the shrug answered, it didn't make Cyclops happy, as he scowled and looked the other direction.

Odd.

"We can't sense her powers," the middle blonde girl said, (they want me to get their names right, they'll have to wear friggin' neon nametags!), "_but_ we can sense her thoughts now."

_That's comforting_, I thought groggily.

What came _next_ was started the sheer and utter chaos and confusion that only the X-Men can create.

"Get Miss Frost," the three girls chorused together, glaring at me. "Kookie's been compromised."

* * *

I was so _mad,_ I couldn't even think of a better, gorier way of saying I was mad.

When they said 'compromised', I thought, foolishly, that they meant something _else_. Thankfully, I didn't scream out that I wasn't compromised and that I was _still_ a virgin, thankyouverymuch.

Come to think of it, _that_ would have been less humiliating than what _did_ happen.

After I was ratted out, for reasons I didn't understand, Emma basically shut me down in ten seconds. She didn't even have the decency to warn me before she took over my mind.

_Necessary_, would be the word she hid behind when, two days later, I was freed from the _brig_. That's right, they threw me into their version of a mutant prison; a place where people who they deemed trouble were kept and the technology turned their powers completely off.

I had to stay depowered for Emma to be able to do what was '_necessary_'.

It was only after I was in the brig that Emma let me have _me_ back. I didn't have any conscious memory of where I was or how I ended up there, but there was one thing I perceived right away.

They locked me up.

I was in a cage again. It didn't matter that it was situated much like a regular bedroom with a bed, nightstand, and cornered off bathroom area, it was a _cage_.

Powers or no powers, I lost it.

Totally, utterly, and with no shame, I cursed at the top of my lungs, smashed my fists into the wall until the skin of my knuckles split, kicked at the plate glass that made up one of the walls, and threw everything I could lift with my _human_ strength at the glass until I wore myself out.

I was _furious_ but on the verge of tears as well.

Emma, _Cyclops_, and a handful of others tried to tell me why they felt it '_necessary_' to lock me _back_ up like an animal, but I didn't listen. I would glare at them, eyes burning and my angered heart thumping in my throat.

Being totally depleted of strength, both mentally and physically, I picked up the allotted pillow and blanket from where I had thrown them and went into the bathroom area. It was only a wall providing modesty from all the eyes on the outside, but it was better than nothing.

Curling up in the shower stall with the pillow under my head and the blanket over my body and face, I trembled with my rage and fear. After a while, all that was left was fear, and as the tears started to fall, humiliation grew firmly in my chest.

_How_ could they do this to me? Didn't they realize this is what I was still having _issues_ with? I wasn't an animal! I didn't _deserve_ this! I wasn't the _bad_ guy, I was the _victim_. I was the _survivor,_ and yet _I_ was being punished for the things that happened to me!

Even if I had my hair and my own clothes, they still striped me bare. They took my _freedom_ and they had taken my _powers_.

I was exposed to any psychic who wanted to wander around my brain. I hoped that I could use a thought up mace upside their heads and inflict a bit of pain on them.

My crying dissolved into hiccups, and then I faded away into an exhausted, though shallow, sleep.

What woke me up was someone calling my name and a hand on my shoulder, gently shaking me.

My eyes were raw and sore from crying, but I managed to pry them open and slowly let my vision clear to see Bobby crouched down next to me with a worried expression on his face.

"Bobby?" I croaked, sitting up until I was resting on one of my elbows. "What time is it?"

"About seven-thirty at night." He gave me a small smile. "You've been asleep for about four hours or at least that's when you came back here."

I nodded and finished pulling myself into a sitting position, not bothering to take off the blanket as I drew my bent legs to my chest. Crossing my arms, I laid them on top of my knees and my head on top of my arms.

"When do I get out?"

Something flickered across Bobby's face before his smile returned. "I don't know."

My anger was starting to be rekindled. I tightened my jaw and cursed in my thoughts as my eyes started to tear up again.

"Why?" I managed; it was in a tight voice, and Bobby shrugged as he dropped down beside me.

"The Three-in-One sensed someone _else_ in your mind, and that's when they raised the red flag. Emma then said she had to do something about it, so she—well, I guess you can say she kicked you out of the driver's seat for a few hours."

I felt heat color my cheeks. I just hoped she didn't make me do anything weird while I couldn't remember.

"Someone else?" I parroted weakly, not even looking at him anymore, but straight ahead at the plain white wall.

"Yeah," he answered slowly. "They haven't tracked the location, but from what Frosty could tell, whoever it is, or was, wormed their way into your mind and has just been—there."

"Mmm," I replied. "Is the thing gone?"

"Nope." Okay, he could have answered that a _little_ bit slower. "While you were out, Emma locked him up in there." He tapped the side of my head with his knuckles. "She said it's only temporary, until you are cooperative enough to let her do what is necessary."

See what I mean? That 'n' word kept sneaking into this situation.

Another person in my mind? How was there even _room_?

I couldn't help but let my mouth twitch at the understanding of _why_ they would shove me in this—_place_. _If_ there was someone in my head, then the last thing they wanted was me going around and exposing all the little secrets about training and stuff.

If it wasn't for the fact that I was exhausted physically, mentally and emotionally, I probably would have started to freak out all over again. Sadly at this point, I was like 'whatever' about the whole thing because there wasn't anything I could _do_.

Sighing, my gears started to turn in another direction as my eyebrows came together in confusion.

"How do you know all this?" For one bitter heartbeat, I thought that Cyclops and Emma might be using Bobby as a diplomat to get what they wanted without a piece of furniture being thrown at them.

He chuckled lightly. "When I found out what had happened after I got back from L.A., I came down here, _but_ I didn't feel like risking your wrath." Bobby nodded toward the mess I made in my fit of rage. "You didn't seem like you wanted to listen to anyone so much as to rip them apart."

I grunted. "I was doing what any accosted individual would do."

"I think you said some words even _Logan_ didn't know." Bobby nudged me with his shoulder.

"Heh, well…" I cleared my throat in a bit of embarrassment. "That still doesn't explain how you know all that stuff."

"I wanted to know, so I asked. It took some anger on my part but they finally coughed up what was going on. I don't think they were too flattered with your outlook on their relationship or Emma's medical history."

Glancing away, I did my best to look innocent. I don't remember everything I said, but I was rattling (screaming) off any and all things that came to my mind. I _do_ remember the words liposuction and tawdry slipping out a few times.

Bobby was kind enough to hang around for a few hours, bandage up my hands and bring me dinner (lunch?). I don't know exactly how long he stayed but I was already asleep when he left.

The next morning, which I could only _guess_ it was morning because my _cage_ didn't have a window to the outside, Emma decided to come around.

_/Are you ready to be a rational little girl or do I have to leave you in time-out for another day?/_

I glared at the wall I had been staring at and decided, with a wicked grin, to send a mental image of a hand flipping her off.

There was a silence which could probably translate into something like '…'.

Huffing, I sighed and sent back a reluctant, _'fine'._ I knew I had to be a 'rational little girl' because I wanted to be _out _of this place.

I refused to leave my little cave of comfort (formerly known as the bathroom area), and just closed my eyes with a heavy sigh.

_/How does this even _work_?/_ I questioned, hoping I was doing this telepathy thing right.

_/You seem to be a more hands-on learner, so-/_

Just like that, a single thought and I was a stranger in the physical world. She had, again, forced me out of the pilot's seat of my own brain and body! Didn't even _ask!_ Just took over the controls…or at least I _thought_ she did.

"You don't have to hide back there." Emma's voice came through the small intercom they had built into the room. I watched, transfixed, as my body responded to the command of—of someone _else_. It was like watching a home movie in 3D.

I wasn't _in_ my body, but kinda 'ghosting' outside of it.

_/It's called the Astral Plane, darling./_

_/The _what_?/_

_/Quiet, the grown-ups are talking./_

"Who are you?" I blinked. Well, my _body_ blinked at the question as it approached the glass wall.

Ugh, it was _so_ weird!

"I—I am, or _was_, Justin Laron." It was partly my voice, but made to be deeper and with a rough edge to it. It sounded almost like I had a sore throat. "I am—a prisoner. I'm sorry; I never wanted to do this to you!"

Though I guess I was just a thought-person, I felt a shiver run through me.

"Where are you from? What do you want with the girl? How did you get into her mind?" Emma didn't seem fazed by Justin's confession as she continued.

I, I mean _he_, looked nervous.

"I-I'm from Indiana; I u-used to work at a café as a cook, ever since I was 16," he started, and my heart was in my 'astral plane' throat. "I had worked there for fifteen years be-before I was _collected_."

I was stunned. Was _he_ the reason I suddenly was able to cook so well?

"By whom?"

"_Them_, the _Redeemers_. They wanted me for _her_." He pointed a finger at my face. "They _knew_ when to act because _she_ knew when to act."

"Kerry knew when to act?"

"No, no, Fortune. Fortune knew." He might have whispered, but the acid dripping off the name was evident.

The rest of the interview was just _wonderful_.

I couldn't do anything but listen in rapt horror as he fumbled over words trying to explain things. He said he was fearful because he _knew_ they'd find out that he'd been discovered. Emma was able to lock onto his energy signature, so a team could be sent out to tear the place down while attempting a rescue.

She assured him that Cyclops was prepping an X-Jet and loading a team to go to where she pinpointed him to be.

He apologized to me again and again as he told me the DVDs I had burned of the newer students' Danger Room exercises were actually his doing under an order from Fortune. He was able to get me to operate under his manipulation because he had been with me ever since my 'death' in Westchester.

Fortune knew when I would be at my weakest, meaning when I was _dying_, and also that Jean would be temporarily out of commission at the same time. When those two facts lined up, Justin was forced into my mind, settling so deep in it that Jean couldn't perceive a change and I didn't know any difference.

Emma's eyebrows rose at the mention of the DVDs. Thought-person me had to explain I used them to study the students to know how to win against them. Then Justin added that they were in the hands of the Redeemers now, having been mailed to them a few weeks ago.

My stomach dropped like lead.

Everything I wrote about my memories after I was captured, too, was slipped into the mail that went out daily from the complex and was given over to the psychos. When Fortune found out through Justin what I had written down, she made sure the X-Men couldn't use the information.

Just as he was going into another answer about why they wanted _me_ and such, his (my) eyes enlarged as he grabbed either side of his (again, my) head and screamed like he was probed with a red-hot poker.

Before my body could slump to the floor I was thrown back into the driver's seat, but there was no way to recover yourself when put in charge of a car that was crashing. I screamed as I felt a searing hot pain slice into my brain.

It was like someone was performing a lobotomy without any anesthesia.

Then flashes of images came into my mind; it was like trying to read a picture book with a strobe light in a dark room. Things I didn't know filled my head. There were faces of people who _felt_ familiar to me but were actually complete strangers. Facts of a life I never lived and the emotions attached to it were swirled around my cranium.

The last barrage of brain damage was of a place I _did_ recognize.

It was Justin's memories of the complex where I was held and everything _he_ endured.

A white ceiling held up by steel walls surrounded him as he was dragged down the hall. The cold shock he felt as skin touched the metal gurney, the fear and panic as they strapped him down, and the screams as they—

—my eyes snapped open as I gasped for air.

Reality gave me a hard slap on the back as I jerked to a sitting position, Bobby on one side and Dr. Hank instructing me to take it easy on the other. My skin was cold with the sweat that was beaded on it, and I felt like I had just been on every rollercoaster in the western hemisphere.

My memories were chopped, diced, and then pureed with Justin's memories and emotions. Things I was sure I never knew before were waiting at the far edge of my thoughts, ready to be there if I should need them. Thankfully, the more, uhm, _personal_ moments were _not_ so easily accessed. He must have blocked me out or—

"What happened?" My voice sounded hoarse as I sought out Emma's impassive face. "Where's Justin?"

Emma cocked an eyebrow slightly and in a bored tone answered, "He was rendered unconscious while he was in you."

With Bobby's help, I managed to struggle to my feet and rest against a wall for support.

I cleared my throat, trying to get the hoarseness to disappear, but it didn't seem to want to vacate.

"Is he dead?" I questioned in a raspy voice.

Emma stated, rather coldly, that they think they found what was _left_ of Justin.

A part of me just froze over on the inside. There was a strong sense of disbelief and denial, and I had to force back the bile that was rising in my already hurt esophagus.

After the jet lag from mind flying in and out of my body, I wondered how the heck Spirit (Hope, a newer student who has the ability to ghost out of her body) did that on a daily basis.

Then shock from everything that had happened in the past 24 or so hours decided to take the stage, only to have an encore of pure rage.

So, that's why I was mad, sitting on the highest point of the roof (which was nearly ten stories off the ground) with my legs swinging over the side while shoving gooey Hershey's Kisses into my mouth. I had been up there for _hours_.

I didn't know how to deal with everything that Justin had confessed. There were so many questions he had answered. With those answers, I just wanted to kick, swear, and basically cause mayhem (again). Yes, I wanted the answers but I never thought they'd be so—I never even considered that they were destroying other people's lives to mess with _me_.

Justin was just one, who _knew_ how many others they were playing with in order to get what they wanted. If they wanted me, why'd they let me go? Why couldn't they just screw with _my_ head and _my_ life and leave everyone else _out _ofit.

Growling, I clenched my hand into a fist, forgetting I was already holding melted Kisses. I groaned when I had chocolate goop dripping from between my fingers and on either side of my hand.

Great.

"If I come up there, are you going to throw me off?" I nearly fell off the building at the voice so close behind me.

Turning around, I saw Bobby standing ten feet behind me with a plastic shopping bag on one arm and a pizza box in the other hand.

"Depends. What's on it?" I gestured to the box he was holding and he grinned in response.

"Extra cheese, pineapple, spinach, and, oh yes, chocolate syrup." He drew closer, set the box down, and then settled himself down next to me. "Did I remember everything?"

"Yup!" I grabbed the box and flipped the lid open. "Do you have napkins or-_hey_! Only half of it has the good stuff on it."

"Sorry, babe." He reached across and plucked one of the normal pieces out of the box. "Not all of us eat like a pregnant woman. I don't see why you even like that junk." He handed me a wad of napkins, and I wiped the chocolate and foil off my hand.

"It's _not_ junk," I defended, tossing the used napkins over the side of the building, then taking a slice out and starting to munch on it. Swallowing, I gave him a blissful smile. "It is the best discovery I ever made by mistake."

"Uh-huh." Bobby rolled his eyes.

We sat there for a few minutes in complete silence. From the bag he had, he fished out two bottles of soda and handed me one.

Once the pizza feeding frenzy ebbed, I leaned back and sighed.

"Feeling better?"

I snorted at the question.

"Not really." I felt the anger starting to stand on the edge of my mind again. "I can't _believe_ I was so _stupid_. I shoulda known there was a catch to them letting me go. The lead psychopath is a future-seeing mutant; of _course_ she woulda known!"

"But how could _you_ have?" Bobby volleyed back to me. "_Jean_ didn't even know you were 'compromised', and she was the strongest telepath on the planet. _Emma_ didn't know, and believe me; her high-and-mightiness took it personally that she couldn't pick up on a lesser telepath."

For some reason, hearing about Emma's inferiority complex made me smile.

"So, what's still bothering you?" he prodded.

"You mean besides being imprisoned by my own 'family'?" I questioned, using air quotes.

"Yeah, besides that."

"And the fact that I've had a mental termite in my head who is now _dead_ because he was fumigated?"

"…Yes, other than that."

I thought about it again and then asked, "And the fact that I was giving away secrets that I shouldn't have even been able to access in the first place to a group of religious cannibals who eat mutants as a rite?"

"Ah, so _that's_ it." Bobby poked my stomach. "You are freaking over _that_."

I sat up like a shot, "_Yes_, I'm freaking _angry_ about that!" I nearly shouted. It wasn't Justin, he was just another victim, it was the situation.

"I all but sold _everyone_ out! I thought being underhanded to learn about the new additions was actually a _smart_ thing, but in the end it could _hurt_ them!" I ran my fingers into my bangs and grabbed them tightly. "What if I cause someone to get _hurt_ or to _die_? And all because I was—I was—"

What _was_ I trying to do? I was trying to get on the team.

A thick coating of sickness covered my stomach as I fought down my rage. I could _hurt_ them. I could do exactly what I didn't want to do!

"You were trying to do what you thought was best," Bobby answered in a soothing voice.

I let go of my hair and draped both arms over my eyes while I bit my lower lip to prevent myself from crying or screaming, I wasn't sure which.

There was a slightly amused noise that came from Bobby; it was somewhat out of place, considering I was in the middle of a miniature meltdown. Lifting my arms, I studied what I could see of him from my laying position.

"What?"

"Just thinking." He shrugged, taking another sip from his soda. "You've—really grown up."

I propped myself up on my elbows, and with an eyebrow raised and my head cocked to the side, I asked what he meant.

"Back in Westchester, if something like this had happened, you'd have been focused on other things. Like," he cleared his throat and then started to speak in a higher pitch while clasping his hands together in a bad attempt to be me. "_Eeek_! Some guy's been in my head and probably knows all my secrets or worse—he's seen me naaahh-kid! What'll I do! Oh no!"

I hefted myself up to a sitting position quickly and punched him in his arm. "I do _not_ sound like that!"

"No," Bobby agreed with a soft smile, "you don't. Not now, but you _used_ to. You've really matured since New York."

I blinked in surprise as my mind went slack-jawed in my skull. Slowly, my heart recited those words over and even swooned over the look of—of adoration he was giving me while he had been saying all of that.

I gave a shy smile and shrugged for lack of anything else to really say.

He made that noise again and ran a hand through his hair as he turned away from me. I couldn't get the delighted expression offa my face as I suddenly found my hands the most interesting things in the world.

An hour later, we were still on the roof, but the feathery hearts and sweet expressions turned into something purely physical coupled with random shouted exclamations.

"_No!" _I screamed, and Bobby grinned.

I had scissors, he played rock.

"_Finally_, I thought this game was rigged."

I rolled my eyes.

"What is the song you hate and always seems to stay in your head?"

"You just want to know so you can annoy me by singing it, don'tcha?" I teased.

"Me? _Nooooo_." He tried to look innocent, but the grin made it a futile attempt.

"Whatever," I muttered, thought about it for a few seconds, and snapped my fingers when the answer came to me. "_It's a Small World_; the one that Disney always has playing? _Ugh_! It is _so_ obnoxious and it just _keeps_ playing that one line over and over again when it gets lodged in your head."

I glanced over at him. He blinked, and then narrowed his eyes. "It's a _classic_."

"It's a cancer."

"Hater. You just don't know what good music is; you listen to that DASH or whatever." He snorted in contempt. "Makes me wonder what song you actually _like_, if you can't respect the classics."

"First of all, it's _DAS. _Second, if you wanna know you have to win the next round." I held out my fist and tipped my nose up slightly.

My paper lost to his scissors.

Curses.

"Okay, now**)** for something less platonic." My brain set off the 'oh-crap' alarm.

"What about the song thing?"

"Later," he said dismissively. "Oh, I know a good one." Bobby locked eyes with me, and I couldn't help but notice the playful light in his eyes was dimmed by seriousness. "Why did you T-bone me in the store with that question?"

"Huh?" I tipped my head to the side slightly. "What _are_ you talking about?"

"'What are we?'"

I gaped. I didn't know exactly what to say, and in all honesty, I was _not_ expecting that to ever come up again! Then it dawned on me he pulled a fast one. He lulled me into the game, making me think it would be only simple questions, then steamrolled me with _this_—just as I had done to him by asking it out of nowhere.

I tore my eyes away from his stare and found the tips of my shoes and the ground far below _very_ interesting. A blush crept up my neck and colored my face bright red.

"Only honest answers," Bobby softly reminded me. It was one of the rules to the 'game'—one question from the winner to the loser**,** who had to give an honest and complete answer.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and felt my brain start to slowly pound away at the keyboard to formulate some response.

"Because—," I started hesitantly, "because I wanted to know what to—what _you_ thought I was to—what _we_ are to…each other." I scratched my forearm nervously and felt my blush start to blush.

He was silent for a long time (okay, it could have been thirty seconds, but when you just put yourself out on a limb, you want to hear _something, _and hopefully not the sound of that limb snapping). I kept my eyes tailored to the ground below us.

_Say something_, I pleaded internally. _Laugh, snort, make a bad joke, just stop being so **quiet**_**.**

"What do you want us to be?" His voice had a delicious husky edge to it.

I cleared my throat from the beef jerky that had once been my mind and forced a grin.

"Nice try, freezer burn, but no freebies."

He held out a fist and we played again.

_I _won. He grunted and waited, probably thinking I was going to ask him a similar question to what he asked me.

I mulled over it for a few seconds. I could be sneaky and do what he was expecting**,** but it just didn't seem right or original to do so. I could have steered these questions down a depressing and lonely road that would leave awkwardness between us. Just the idea of losing the lightheartedness of this conversation and time twisted my heart. I frowned and made my decision.

"I am going to save this question to use at a later date." I nodded to myself after stating my intent.

"You can't do that!" Bobby squeaked. "That's against the rules!"

"It's not _in_ the rules, is it?"

At first there was silence, but then he made a noise in the back of his throat that was akin to a strangled acceptance.

"But no more of that," Bobby muttered, holding out a fist again.

"No more of that," I agreed with a smirk.

Next round, he won**, **and I waited for him to ask his question like I didn't already know what it was.

"What is it, oh conniving Kookie, that you want?"

I felt the breath leave my lungs and along with it one word to answer his question.

"You."

"What?" Bobby questioned quietly.

"I want _you,_" I repeated, casting him a short look and an unsure smile before I lost my courage and found something else to stare at. "As friend, boyfriend, or whatever—I just know I want _you_ in my life."

Surprisingly, I didn't blush, but I felt my fingertips grow cold as everything in me seemed to curl into a tight ball and lodged itself in my throat. I wasn't just out on a limb anymore; I was out on a limb attached to an unstable tree planted at the lip of a bubbling volcano.

I waited, again, for something to be said or to happen. When nothing _did,_ I took the initiative to fidget with whatever I could get my fingers on while keeping my eyes on the trees and the stars in the distance.

I took a deep breath and just did something I never really remembered myself doing before. I don't know why I was suddenly so open about this, maybe because of Justin. Maybe because I realized that he lost all his opportunities and I still had mine. If I didn't at least try, I wasn't going to know.

Not knowing, staying in limbo, was torturous and I was sick of the masochistic hurt. Hyper-active, fluffy-winged butterflies were doing NASCAR laps from my brain, down into my stomach, and back again. Either I was going to throw up, or my head was going to fly away with all the energy being focused in my chest.

You know, for someone who claims to not like drama, the man sure knew how to create some!

Finally, I couldn't take it any longer and turned with an apology perched on my lips and ready to fly.

"Look, Bobby,if I-" _That_ was as much as I got out before being, well, _pleasantly_ surprised with him shutting my mind down.

No, not the Emma way, but in the he-is-kissing-me-like-he-used-to-and-_dang_- the-man-knows-how-to-kiss way. I was too stunned that a, he _was_ kissing me, and b, that I thought I had freaked him out was _wrong. _I was way too flabbergasted to react to anything.

When he pulled back a little, a slight smirk on his lips, I could only gawk at him. Bobby tilted his head to the side and asked, "What were you saying? I—got distracted."

Figuring words weren't going to do any good now (especially since the hamster in my head that runs on the wheel that powers my thoughts _died_ from a heart attack brought on by joy and shock), I shrugged as an answer and leaned back into him.


	8. Chaotic Clean

**Why Me**

**Chapter 008**

* * *

Author's Note: As y'all requested! Shorter but faster chapters! :D :D I have to say that I am super excited about the next few chapters and the chaos that I plan on unraveling ^ ^ Yes, to those who love Chris, he will be more in the future, but for now he is on assignment in the city. And, even more important, all thanks and praise about the improved readability goes to my wonderful, patient beta **ZeldaAddict42**!

* * *

Out of all the ways I could have faced my fate, I did it slung over the shoulder of a cankerous, cursing Canadian who paraded me through the complex, until we got to Scott and Emma's office where he then _dumped_ me at the stilettos of the White Queen. That had to be by _far_ the most humiliating scenario ever.

The rest of the game participants were already there, standing a few feet to the right of me. Their expressions ranged from amused to severely sorrowful.

When Emma cleared her throat, I gave a nervous smile, jumped to my feet, and joined the other guilty teens where I belonged. Scott came in a few minutes later, walked up to Emma, and then turned to face the juvenile delinquents.

"_What_," he started, voice in full commando mode, "were you _thinking_?"

I flicked my eyes down the line to see everyone seeking the answer from anyone else in the subtlest of ways. Great, we were all drawing blanks.

"Are we allowed to huddle for a moment to come up with an answer?" Rockslide cracked and I mentally groaned.

Scott's face went from blank to a scowl.

"We were bored," someone answered sheepishly.

"_Bored_?" Emma parroted. "You have numerous state-of-the-art diversions at your fingertips, and you were _bored_?"

I don't know _why_ they seemed so surprised.

What did they expect from a dozen super-powered people who had nothing to do for a week? There were no threats of world destruction, domination, or damnation, so missions were non-existent. It was considered a vacation, so no mandatory classes for _anyone_.

It started off innocently (but doesn't everything). The Danger Room was being used by the 'senior' members to run through some advanced maneuvers, so us 'juniors' were stuck with the gym and pool for exercising. Sparring was a possibility, but with the 'no powers allowed' sign painted on the gym wall, it became a blame game. Whoever won would be accused of using their powers by the loser, and the ensuing argument would last for about ten minutes. It wasn't worth the amount of Tylenol needed to keep practicing.

Going outside and romping around was nipped in the bud when it started to rain, complete with thunder and lightning. We exhausted the movies (which were in every language imaginable) and soon became bored with channel surfing (even though Chris had rigged up the reception to get what seemed like every channel on the planet).

Board games dissolved into fits of laughter and then something being set on fire.

Wow, it makes us seem like a bunch of hooligans. We weren't— we were just out-of-our-senses too bored.

It was only after _Operation_ met with a tragic fate of a spilt soda and Cheez-it crumbs that the _real_ chaos was engaged.

There was this unnamed phenomena that always seemed to occur in the complex. Everyone who wasn't under the eye of Cyclops' strict training régime for that day would cram themselves in the same room, _except_ the Emma clones, the Cuckoo sisters or whatever they called themselves. They'd holed up in Cerebra or their room. No big loss there, they spooked me.

Though, thinking about it, it is hard to say 'crammed' when the room was half the size of a basketball court.

Anyway, there we were, all together and bored out of our common sense.

I was texting Chris, since Bobby was busy in the Danger Room. When I told Chris of the critical, mind-killing nothing that every one under the legal drinking age was enduring, he suggested that we make an 'X-Girls Gone Wild' video.

My eyebrow ticked in annoyance as I pounded out a reply on my innocent little keys.

"What about 'Truth-or-Dare'?" Meagan threw out, lifting her head from her magazine to scope the group's reaction. The boys, for the most part, rolled their eyes.

"Sure, it's gotta be more entertaining than _nothing_," Noriko sighed out.

"No one is going to have to run about naked are they?" Hisako questioned, uncertainty tinting her words.

"Kookie?"

I shrugged. "Sure, as long as we can get a 'no naked' rule."

"Like any of us would _want_ to see any of _you_ streaking," Julian muttered.

Those who were playing, namely just the girls and Victor, formed a haphazard circle on one end of the room. We did this so no one would confuse the 'lame losers' for those who were playing.

After ten minutes of basic dares and typical truths, Noriko clapped her hands and, with a wicked grin, announced that the warm-ups were over. She eyed all the players and then pointed to Victor.

"Truth or dare?"

He crossed his arms and tilted his chin up as he said dare with a smug voice.

"I _dare_ you to go into Mr. LeBeau's room, get all of his cologne, go to the communal showers, and while fully clothed, pour it _all_ over you."

For a green guy, he went remarkably pale.

The rest of us looked at each other, our mouths hanging open slightly in shock. Noriko meant business.

There was absolute silence, until the eruption of laughter from the other side of the room broke it. Julian came strutting over, a smirk on his face as he instructed Meagan to move over before dropping down to join our game.

"Do you accept?"

Victor sucked in a deep breath, held it, and let it out in a long-suffering sigh. "Yes."

"Great!" Nori climbed to her feet quickly. "Let's get it over with."

Victor sighed again but dutifully got up and followed her out of the room.

"You guys playing, or are you going to let a buncha _girls_ show you up?" Julian instigated toward the non-players who were still just looking on.

Rockslide eyed the rest of the guys before shrugging and coming over. The others shortly followed.

When Victor came back, he was glowering, dripping wet, and smelled like a skunk pimped out for a hot date. Nori had her nose pinched between a finger and thumb as she sat down by us. The stink bomb was banished to the furthest corner of the room.

The longer we played, the crazier and riskier the dares became. If anyone was to ask for a truth, it was something to embarrass the living thought out of the person.

So, after an hour, it became a game of 'Dare-or-Dare'.

Between strength, unlocked doors, and other tricky methods, no room was off limits to us thus making anything and everything possible. Thanks to too many weird Danger Room scenarios, hours on top of hours wasted in front of the television, and indulging in internet mayhem in our lifetimes, the dares weren't only risky but highly creative.

However, everything came to a screeching halt when Scott and the others quit the Danger Room without us knowing. I think their first tip off that something wasn't right was when Miss Rogue found Victor in the ladies' locker room with Noriko waiting on him. The stench is what they followed to find the rest of us.

The little game of Truth-or-Dare evolved from Dare-or-Dare to Run-or-Die.

I ran.

Actually, because I was out on a dare and had Cessily with me as a witness, we were able to turn heel and make an effort to elude the suddenly irate 'seniors'.

My brain went into tactical mode, and I knew the first thing to do for self-preservation was to split up from the other person. One was easier to hide than two. Thankfully, I didn't have to ditch her because she took a right and I kept straight.

I ended up in one of the male halls as I ran like the devil was on my heels. Thinking back, I had no idea how right I was in thinking that.

Panting, I turned the corner and slammed into a wall.

Groaning from where I had oh-so-gracefully fallen on my rear-end, I glared up at the wall. Only, it wasn't a wall, it was a Wolverine.

A pinched lipped, eyes narrowed into thin slits with nostrils flaring Wolverine.

I blinked as I heard and _felt_ the low growl that was reverberating from his chest. Swallowing, I gradually got to my feet, afraid if I moved too fast he'd snap and beat the snot out of me.

Normally, a growling Mr. Logan was something to avoid but nothing for me to really be _fearful_ of meeting. This time was different.

My last dare, the one I had _just_ finished, had to do with Mr. Logan's room.

I don't know if he was still pumped from playing war in the Danger Room, or if he discovered that all his tighty-whities now had various words written across the back side of them. Things like 'hottie', 'bad boy', and 'chick magnet'.

You should know what happened after that. I ended up being flung over his shoulder and marched to the office.

Emma must have gone through some of the other members' heads in order to get an accurate roster of who was part of the chaos and who was doing assigned duties.

"Since you _obviously_ cannot be trusted to be left alone," Emma pointed out icily, "I think the best thing is to split you into pairs and _watch_ as you clean up the messes you have made."

My eyes didn't realize the mess I was in because they rolled _without_ my permission.

"Who destroyed the main kitchen?" Scott inquired.

There was a sudden stillness all around the room.

I had completely forgotten about the kitchen. Earlier, before the game, I had been attempting to bake to ease the boredom. Baking with a gourmet oven, I thought, would be _easy_. That friggin' thing had more dials and buttons than the X-Jet's control panel!

Through my frustrations, Julian had sauntered in to replenish one of the kitchenettes' refrigerators with sodas. When he saw what I was attempting, not only did he insult my intelligence because I couldn't get the dumb oven to do anything more than _beep_ at me, he also had the nerve to ask why I was trying to do something so _girly_.

Already perturbed, I had turned to face him with my hands on my hips and pointed out that I _was_ a girl. He snorted and was about to leave the kitchen when I sent an egg flying into the back of his head. It eased some of my irritation, but it had transferred to Julian as he slowly faced me with disbelief and disgust on his face.

Without a second thought, he dropped the armful of cans on the floor, and that was the beginning of the end of the nice, clean kitchen.

"Well?" Scott prodded the group.

I was caught.

If I didn't answer, I'm sure Julian would, and even if he by some miracle didn't, they would only have had to look at the surveillance tapes to narrow it down—or something.

Slowly and very sheepishly, I raised my hand.

A few poorly concealed snickers came from the line; from Scott there only came a very faint groan.

* * *

Payback is a female dog, and so was Scott.

'Let the punishment fit the crime' was the theme of our lecture. Emma split us into groups, assigned us various locations to clean up, and then appointed a 'babysitter' to make sure we did a good job. I think it was mainly to make sure we didn't run off and do more damage.

Not that there wasn't plenty of time to come up with something devious in the _four hours _I had been scrubbing down the kitchen from the ceiling to the floor. For the past hour, I had been on my knees scouring a nasty concoction of honey, flour, eggs, and molasses off the tiled floor. To make things even _more_ enjoyable, I was doing it with my nails, a metal spatula, and a funny smelling sponge.

I wasn't the only culinary criminal on their knees; Julian was my cell mate so to speak. Since he aided in the defacing of the kitchen, he had to help in its restoration—or so said Emma.

"This sucks," I muttered under my breath for the umpteenth time.

"It's _your_ fault," Julian answered coldly.

"If you wouldn't have made your stupid comments about me, we wouldn't be here," I hissed, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Scott wasn't paying attention.

"_We_ shouldn't be here; it should be just _you_. You started it," he pointed out.

I rolled my eyes.

"And, if I remember correctly, _I_ _finished_ it, too." I glanced over at him to make sure he was able to see the smug smirk on my face. "With you being locked up in the broken meat freezer."

He glared at me, his nostrils doing this neat little flare as the top of his nose wrinkled in disgust, as if the memory assaulted his nose again and not just his pride.

"Are you _trying_ to pick a fight?" His voice dropped in tone, and the air around him started to blur, an indication that he was powering up.

Growling low in my throat, I let the adrenaline pump through me, my skin turning black and my nails becoming harder.

"I don't—"

The sudden red beam made both of us yelp and scurry back and away from each other.

"Now, kids, save it for the Danger Room," Scott warned, a finger resting on the edge of his glasses, ready to send another beam our way. "Get along."

Numbly, I nodded in understanding, my poor heart racing from the unexpected blast.

Dad pushed his glasses back up his nose and turned back to the newspaper in his hands.

Once the scrubbing and scowling continued on our parts, I thought all was said and done between the oh-so-merry maid and me.

"Want to make a deal?" Julian whispered, lazily going over a clean tile with his sponge. He wasn't even _trying_ to get the gunk off the floor!

I glared at his overly-shined tile and huffed.

"No thanks, Satan, I don't feel like selling my soul today."

From the corner of my eye, I saw him stop and stare at me before shaking his head and huffing.

"Like I would actually want any part of you; I like _quality_." Before I could make a comeback, he added in a hushed voice, "I don't get _what_ Bradley _sees _in you."

I blinked in confusion before shrugging it off. Whatever Chris might have said to Julian about me didn't matter. I mean, yeah, it _mattered_ because I was going to blow up Chris' phone later (after I got my cell phone back from Dad—he confiscated _all_ the cell phones from those who had to clean) with a few hundred text messages, but it didn't matter enough to ask Julian.

"Look, I'm sick of being treated like a servant. It's not a role I was meant for, and I want to make a deal with you."

My eyebrow ticked. I could hear what he _wasn't _saying. He thought that _I_ was meant to be a servant. Suddenly, a lovely image of me shoving my sponge down his throat came to the forefront of my thoughts, making me smirk.

"So you think _I_ am fit to be a slave?"

"If the shackle fits," he gave me a smug grin; I have him a deep growl. I refaced on the floor, scrubbing as hard as I could, pretending to be scrubbing that grin off his face.

"You want to hear my offer or not?" Julian asked impatiently.

I shrugged and jabbed the floor with the metal spatula.

"I know something that you _want_ to know."

I snorted. "I doubt that."

"You two should be using that energy on _cleaning,_ not _talking_," Scott advised.

Julian rolled his eyes before he turned toward Dad and sarcastically asked, "I thought you wanted us to get along?"

"Get along, yes, plan a mutiny, no," he commented dryly and flipped to another page of the newspaper.

I stuck out my tongue and nearly swallowed it when Dad quickly turned his head to me with his eyebrows peeking above his sunglasses in question.

"So, we have a deal or not?"

I threw my sponge into the mop bucket, leaned back on my legs and crossed my arms. Julian and I weren't close. We fought off and on, verbally (well, except the kitchen fiasco earlier obviously), but mainly ignored each other. He was arrogant and stuck-up, and I happened to be the type of person who didn't _like_ the arrogant and stuck-up.

Maybe I was just the type of person who just couldn't see pass the arrogance, but then that would make me the bad guy. Hmmph.

"How can I be sure it's _worth_ it?" I questioned smugly.

He smirked and mirrored my position.

"Oh, _I_ _know_ it is." He leaned forward, closer to me. "Trust me."

I scoffed, rolled my eyes, and said, "Yeah, that'll happen."

Fishing my sponge out of the bucket, I went back to trying to remove the honey from the tiled floor. Some hair fell into my face, and I tucked it behind my ear and then growled in disgust, realizing I had just put wet, soapy honey into it. Great. Just great.

While I was inspecting the gunk that had collected on my hand and under my nails with an accusing glare, Julian dropped his voice to a mere whisper and said only one word: saint.

I froze.

My skin felt clammy as my heart went into hyper-drive.

"What did you say?" I eyed him through my peripheral vision, mentally stopping my body from going into defense mode. My skin almost _itched_ from wanting to shift into black.

"Saint, that's what the guy kept calling us." The cocky grin said he _knew_ he had my attention and therefore was about to get his way.

Slowly turning my face to him, I narrowed my eyes, my suspicions reached fever pitch as I stared at Julian, seeking any sign of deceit in his rich brat boy face. My anger howled within me like the wind, and for left me cold and numb.

I flicked my eyes over to where Dad was still kicked back, flipping through his paper. He might not be paying _close_ attention, but he had proved he _was_ keeping an ear and eye on us even if halfheartedly. I fought down my natural urge to throttle Julian and demand him to tell me what he supposedly knew, and just sucked in a deep breathe through my nose.

"Okay, fine, _deal_. Now talk." I figured that if he was making something up, I'd just get him back later. I am female and remember every little detail of a done-me-wrong act from a man.

Julian spilled the whole story to me. When they went to rescue Justin (the guy who had been vacationing in my brain for more than a year), they landed smack dab in a Redeemers lab. There wasn't much left since the psychos were in the process of burning everything to prevent the X from finding out anything.

Most of the 'priests' either died in the fire or had taken some type of pill to kill themselves. There was only one who survived, due to being pulled from the fire after passing out. I had been freed only minutes before they brought him to the compound and stuffed him down in the brig.

Even though Julian admitted to not being allowed on the brig level, he was sure the man was still down there. He was even able to give me the man's name, Hammond Golling.

While I just sat there, mouth hanging open, eyes wide, and my heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anger, Julian left. I vaguely heard Dad ask him where he was going, to which Julian answered that I agreed to finish up.

"Is that true?" he questioned. I nodded numbly and went on auto-pilot for the rest of the clean up.


	9. Swing and a Miss

Why Me?

Chapter 009

* * *

On my _very_ long list of not-so-smart-things accomplished, I was ranking the current situation right after the time I was thirteen and wet the bed because I had just watched _A Nightmare on Elm Street_ marathon and didn't want to risk meeting Freddy in the dark hallway.

I wanted to cry, bang my head, and disappear into the drywall behind me as I listened to Bobby as he moved around his room.

How, how, _how_ did I _always_ seem to get myself into these situations?

Okay, so I was a _bit_ dishonest in my methods, and that's probably why I was stuck hiding in Bobby's closet and praying he would just go take a shower sometime _really_ soon. I had his cellphone in one hand, his ID card in the other, and was doing a little dance because I had to pee.

This was all because of Julian and the sliver of information he'd given me.

For once I didn't jump the gun; instead, I did something totally sneaky and just a _wee_ bit underhanded. I could have tackled Dad, blaring accusations and stomping around like a miniature Godzilla, but _first_ I decided to check the rumor. If it was true, _then_ I could do all the stomping, screaming, and psychotic behavior I wanted without making a complete imbecile out of myself.

This, at least, was the reasoning I used to shut my conscience up.

It wasn't until a few days after the kitchen cleanup when a few of the senior members were in the Danger Room practicing with some of the junior members or, as I found out their proper name was, some of the X-men in Training. I personally think that abbreviating it to XiT makes it sound like _zit_, but that's my opinion.

I was waiting, _lurking_ around for a time when Mr. Logan wasn't in the vicinity (he only recently found out about the permanent marker and his underwear) and the male senior hall was mainly empty.

Why?

It was because to get into the Brig databanks, you had to have a certain level of security clearance.

Being a junior member and having recently been exorcised of a psychic boogeyman, _I_ obviously wasn't going to have that privilege. There was only _one_ person who I knew where they kept their ID key card (even if they didn't _know_ I knew), and of course, it was Bobby.

I _could_ have tried asking him for help, but I wouldn't appreciate all the questions that would need to be answered before or after the use of the access.

The best thing about being a forced living answering machine for Scott and Emma was that I was privileged to some tricks. For instance, I had Emma's platinum credit card number memorized since she often tasked me to order some random things for the complex. After so long, I could just spout it off like my name.

Also, I knew the master key code. It was sixteen numbers and had taken me a while to remember it, but after I did, I felt like a shark in a pool of guppies. It wasn't a master code for _every_ room, but it was for all the bedrooms.

Since I knew the master code, I had let myself into Bobby's room during the Danger Room training session. If I timed everything right, I had a little more than thirty minutes to log on, check the Brig records, and escape before he came back.

I punched in the code to the panel on his bedroom door and grinned when I heard the lock _pop, _signaling it was unbolted. I pushed the door open and quickly shut it behind me. It took me less than five minutes to fire up his laptop, find his ID card, plug it in, and log on to the Cerebra hard drive.

Yes, there were passwords, but I _knew_ Bobby enough to know he kept them on a folded piece of paper sticky-tacked on the tongue of his brown dress shoes. The right shoe to be specific. It was a habit he had kept from Westchester. It was a good thing he was a creature of habit—at least when it came in handy to _me_ and my breaking into the files that were off limits.

_Cerebra V5.589:Logged:Drake,R;Iceman:Clearance:Alpha_

I was as giddy as I would be in a candy store. Checking the time, I noted I had about twenty-seven minutes before I had to be out of here. I started to scroll through the various reports and blah, blah, blah.

I almost jerked myself out of the chair in fear when a certain song blasted the quiet away.

"_They say the best things in life are free…"_

Trying to calm my racing heart, I pinpointed the location of the noise as coming from under a pile of papers on his desk. Pushing the papers aside, I found the offensive little brat. It was his cellphone.

Grumbling, I grabbed the dumb thing and searched it over for a way to silence it. Finding no way to quiet it and not wanting to violate his privacy (anymore than I already _was_), I just held the thing tightly in one hand as I continued to click the mouse with the other.

After a while I was sure of two things: one, that I was going to crush his phone before the day was over and two, that I was going to have '_Money'_ stuck in my head for the next two years. It had gone off at least ten times and didn't seem to be stopping.

I glared down at it, trying to warn it that many a cellphone had died at my hand, when it started to play the song again.

Groaning, I shook my head and only perked up when I found the mission log from the day I was released.

"…_found the base in the process of being destroyed by those claiming to be 'priests' of the group calling themselves the Redeemers…"_

Okay, so Julian had been telling the truth so far.

I scrolled down the page, skimming over a lot of the tactical and technical parts, until I got to the heading of 'inventory'.

"…_Your lovin' give me such a thrill, but your lovin' don't pay my bills…"_

I threw the stupid phone on the desk and tried my best to ignore it.

"…_most information, hard and soft, was destroyed by the fire or the fight with the men there; however, we were able to obtain several red 'gems' from their lab. I have given these over to the X-Club for examination. Also, after the purge, the Redeemers managed to ingest a form of concentrated poison. We were able to secure one of the priests alive, and he is currently being held in the brig for further questioning." _

My jaw was so tight by the time I got to the last word; I was just waiting for the sound of my bone breaking under the pressure.

"…_Now give me money, that's what I want, that's what I want_…"

That was _it_.

I grabbed the phone, flipped it opened, and was going to take out my anger on the person who had _no life _who kept texting Bobby. I didn't care if it was his _mother_; they were going to get an ear—

_New Msgs: Opal_

It's a wonder I wasn't bi-polar with the instant mind flip I had. My mind thumbed through the rolodex of names until I remembered _who_ 'Opal' was in relation to Bobby.

She was his ex-girlfriend. Okay, okay, she was _one_ of his exes. My heart suddenly leapt into my throat with doubt. He never _did_ say we were anything. We had been spending more time together, so it would make sense to _think_ we were more than friends, right?

I lightly banged my forehead on his desk a few times, like that was going to make something click into place so I would be able to understand the male populace of the planet. Dad was _hiding_ things from me, things he probably was aware that I would _want_ to know. Bobby was—was—

"…kicked it, with _me _in it!"

-_crap! _He was in the hallway!

I jumped to my feet, feeling panic rise like a fire in my body, burning away any and all other concerns. Quickly, I slammed his lap top shut, ripped the card out of the reader, and frantically thought of where to hide.

There was his bathroom, but considering he was coming from an exercise session, he'd most likely want to use it. Try as I might, there was no way I could pull off looking like a loofah sponge.

The second option was under the bed.

I heard him punching in his key code and blanched.

Without another thought I jolted to his open closet, quietly and quickly shutting the door just as I heard him push open the bedroom door.

My heart raced so fast I was sure it was going to crash through my rib cage and fly into a wall or just stop due to over-exhaustion. I screwed my eyes shut, desperately listening to him move about his room.

Maybe, just maybe, if he went to take his shower, I could sneak out of here with _some_ dignity intact.

That's why I wanted to disappear.

He started humming a tune before I heard a soft _click_ and a song filled the air.

Internally, I groaned. With the music on, even at a decent level, I couldn't hear his movements as clearly.

I could _not_ spend the rest of the day in here! It was only two-something in the afternoon! I fumbled around my brain for some way to get past him, but then my luck held true.

"…_they say the best things in life are free…"_

I was dead.

I was _so_ dead because I was _so_ busted.

I clamped my hands around the offending little tattletale and prayed he hadn't heard it. The idea of crushing the thing came back into my mind with a defense lawyer claiming it to be the quickest way out of trouble. The judge overruled with a rather sarcastic question of how to explain a crushed cellphone in his closet.

The music was turned lower for an instant, and I could picture Bobby tipping his head slightly like a cat listening for the faint scratching of mice in the wall (or in this case, closet). I badly wanted to swallow the ball of fear in my throat but was too afraid it'd make a sound he'd hear.

Another part of me, a part that wore high heels and cherry red lipstick, crossed her legs and purred that if caught, I could turn this into some type of kinky foreplay.

My screeching monkeys of modesty found her hairspray and a match, and then took great pleasure in setting that part of me on fire.

Once it stopped singing, I read the time off of his cellphone.

2:27 p.m., I sighed and shifted closer to the closet door.

2:51 p.m., I tucked his ID into the back of my jeans' pocket and wondered if he had fallen asleep.

3:02 p.m., the brilliant idea formed that I should text Chris (because everyone else would have asked questions) and beg him to call Bobby's _room_ number. When he asked what he should say after calling him, I blanked. I pounded my reply on my keys that _anything_ would be fine.

3:07 p.m., Bobby turned his radio off, answered the ringing phone, and had a short, to the point conversation with Chris. Whatever Sparky decided to lure Bobby out of his room with wasn't working, as Bobby's voice was sarcastic and snappy.

3:08 p.m., Bobby slammed down the phone, muttered, and ripped open the closet door. I pressed myself even harder against the wall next to the door. Thankfully, only his _hand_ ventured into the small space to grab a jacket. Why, I had to wonder, did a guy who controlled and often turned into ice need a jacket to keep the cold out?

He slammed the closet door shut, causing my ears to ring for a few seconds before I heard the main door slam. Releasing a breath I had been holding since he wrenched the door open a few heartbeats ago, I gingerly opened the door, waiting for any exclamations of ghosts (or bad girlfriends), and when none came, I gladly leapt from my prison.

Not wanting to know what Chris had told to him to lure him away from his personal retreat, I tried to make my escape quick. I slipped the ID card back where I had found it, and as I was going to throw the evil phone back under its paper prison, my bladder dropped ten feet.

Squeaking in annoyance and need, I pivoted on my heel and ran into his bathroom, shutting the door behind me. Once my bladder was satisfied and my hands washed, I flicked the light switch off and was about to exit the bathroom when I heard Bobby cursing from the hall…_again._

_Argh!_

I didn't have time to do a fabulous tuck and roll into his closet, so I had to settle with a hop and turn into his shower stall. After I pulled the fabric shower curtain across the length of the pole holding it up, I waited.

This was just flippin' fantastic. I went from a dry, dark, and small hideout to a damp, dark, and even smaller one. He made it into the room, muttering something about his uncle and technology, but after that, I wasn't able to clearly decipher what he was doing.

"_They say the best things in life are free…"_

I was _so_ glad I didn't have anything left in my system to make me wet my pants as his evil, _evil_ phone went off. The bathroom acted like a tiled amplifier, making the phone's ringtone seem even _louder_. That's when I noticed it wasn't coming from my back pocket where I had jammed it before I pulled my jeans down; I dared a quick peek to see the phone doing a spectacular light show on the floor at the base of the toilet.

The door was flung open and hit the counter top with a _thump _as a confused "How'd you get in here?" came from Bobby.

He was humming something to himself as he left the bathroom; I had to do a little turn to look out the _other_ side of the curtain to see his bedroom. When I did that, my wet-slicked sneaker squeaked, slid, and propelled me from the stall.

The ground and I met in a bruising embrace as I landed. My legs were tangled and my right shoulder throbbed with pain from being used as a bumper pad.

"What the—?" The lights were flicked on, and I found myself studying the toes of his black boots.

"Hi," I greeted as if he had just walked into a store I was working in. I carefully rolled so that I was on my back, relieving my shoulder of the awkward weight.

His eyebrows rose high on his forehead in question as his lips tried in vain to not quirk into a smile.

"Hi?" Bobby tilted his head to the side as he crossed his arms and leaned against the door jamb. "I can't _wait_ to hear this."

* * *

I shifted my neck to make it pop and crack on both sides. After the rather embarrassing task of verbally dancing and jumping through hoops to get out of Bobby's room without a visit to Emma, I had been bulldozed into the locker room (that still smelled like bleach and cheap cologne), told to change into the 'special' uniform the PHDed lab rats created, and to be in the Danger Room in ten minutes.

So there I stood, arms crossed as I waited for the X-Club to put into actions whatever nefarious torture techniques they had come up with all in the name of science.

"Are you ready?"

The muscle below my eye twitched. I had a million things on my mind, a bruised shoulder, a stomach full of shattered dignity, and a suspicion I was now on Bobby's 'Characters of Malicious Intent' list; at that point I figured what else could possibly be broken, bruised, or otherwise embarrass me?

"Sure," I replied, resigned to my fate.

"Okay, Kookie," Dr. Hank took over the microphone, "the suit you are wearing was designed to monitor your physical response to varying stimuli and situations. The small cuff you are sporting will take a very small sample of blood at different intervals to help us note if any changes occur once your adrenaline kicks in."

Basically: look rat, different tunnels, find the cheese.

I was working in the 'good solider' mentality of doing what I was told to without asking questions, but the sensors in the seams and blood sucking bracelet kinda led me to wonder.

"What's the point of this?" I questioned as an afterthought.

"To see if you're fireproof."

"_What!_"

"Ignore Dr. Nemesis," Dr. Rao, the female and apparently only _sane_ part of the group, dismissed. "We want to see and document the extent of your powers since they have changed from what was recorded previously."

Okay, that was _much_ better than the image of roasted Kookie.

* * *

Two hours later I was gasping, dragging myself from the depths of a simulated hell, and alphabetizing the ways I planned on killing the X-Club. I had something especially heinous in the 'R' file for whoever it was that came up with the underwater erupting volcanoes that were infested with mutated, ravenous jellyfish scenario.

I low crawled out of the Danger Room doors and collapsed once I heard the doors _swoosh_ and click behind me.

_Zombies_, why on earth did they need to know how my powers would react to _zombies_?

And the _nudist beach_!

Even worse was when they put the _zombies_ at the nudist beach!

I was going to happily remain a virgin forever.

I lay on the floor, enjoying the feel of the cold metal against my skin, when I heard someone coming. At that point in time I couldn't have cared less if it was Santa Claus or the Grim Reaper, so I didn't bother to lift my head to see who it was. Whoever it was reached down, grabbed my left wrist, unsnapped the mechanic mosquito, and then let my arm drop down to the floor in a _thud_.

Annoyed by my apparent downgrade from dying human to _thing_, I forced my head up to catch sight of a familiar, callous white clad male sauntering back down the hall.

_Jerk_, I groaned in my mind, unable to find the strength to say it out loud. I put my head back down and closed my eyes, concentrating on my breathing. I must have fallen asleep, because I woke up to someone's boot in my ribcage.

"Hey, Summers, wake-up," the voice instructed, nudging me with his boot again. "What are you doing down there anyway?"

"Smothering dust bunnies," I deadpanned.

Ben, the guy with his head always on fire, squatted down in front of me.

"They need your help in the kitchen for dinner." With the message delivered, he stood up and strolled away.

What is this world coming to when someone is lying on the floor _dying_ and people just shrug and walk away?

Oh, right, I'm a Summers. I don't _stay_ dead so _dying_ was just me being a drama queen—or something.

* * *

Even though the day was exhausting, sleep was a stranger to me. I had a riot of activity going on in my head that wouldn't settle down and the riot police known as aspirin did nothing to help. I lay on my top bunk, listening to two out of three of my roommates' breathing (Laura being gone for only Scott knows why this time) and stared at the ceiling.

My eyes were adjusted to the dark, so I could pick out ever single indention in the tiled surface above me.

Bobby hadn't outted me like he'd threatened to when he found me on his bathroom floor, but I don't think he bought the story I made up either. When push went to panic, I insisted I was returning his phone he'd left in a common area. I got into his room because the door wasn't shut all the way and so it didn't lock. Once in his room, I had the sudden urge to go to the bathroom (truth) and then when I heard him come back in, I became anxious, (another truth) and hid in his shower stall.

He had stared at me for a few moments, not saying anything before he sighed, smiled and crouched down in front of me.

"If truth is stranger than fiction, then I think I'll stick with your fiction," he teased and ruffled my hair.

That aside, what I had found out while in his room was a bit of information that gnawed relentlessly at my stomach. They, my supposed family, had one of those sneaky little rabid flesh eaters in the Brig. I wasn't told he was down there by honest sharing. A more sensible part of me questioned if it was to protect me from a freaking-out fiasco or to protect _him_ from me (and my claws, and my strength, and my kitchen knives, etc, etc)?

Though they didn't finalize my list of powers, Dr. Hank had muttered under his breath about new anomalies in my physic while he piled his plate full of food at dinner. So far, besides the fact that my false teeth were starting to pinch at the gum line, there was nothing I was overly concerned about.

I had my strength, claws, thicker black skin, night vision, and an apparent _lack_ of scent. To me, that sounded like a fairly decent amount of abilities…though I could say I was similar to a bald cat.

Huffing, I turned so I lay on my side, facing the wall. If there was _one_ thing I had gotten extremely good at it was thinking. After nine months in a cage and having nothing to do during my lucid moments _but _think, I was a gold-medal winner at it. Thinking, learning, absorbing, and plotting were all keys to keeping my mind rooted in reality. I trained myself to remember a great deal. I knew the faces, routines, smells, and so on, while I was in that prison. I did this so I could pounce at any change and possibly win my freedom.

Even after I was free, I found myself _still_ observing those around me. I picked up on habits, routines, and small inflections of their voices and body language. It was sort of a second nature to me for survival. After a while, I was able to piece together certain things given enough time.

Like when I watched some of the guys playing poker one night while Miss Alison painted my nails. It took me about two hours (and three coats of green nail polish) but I was finally able to pick up the small 'tells' they had while playing.

For example when Mr. Logan had a losing hand he rhythmically tapped his ring finger of his right hand on his thigh. When he had a winning hand, he cracked his neck to the right. Mr. Remy was the second hardest to crack, probably because he gambled a _lot_. It was actually Dad who took me the longest to decipher.

His face was a stone set mask, except when someone cracked a joke, and then he would allow his lips to twitch into a semi-smile. It wasn't until small rhinestones were being glued on top of the green nail polished that I perked up with hope at his tell. Several hands and beers later, I was sure.

Scott's jaw tensed just a fraction, as if preparing for a punch to his face when his hand was bad. His nostrils would flare for a heartbeat, like a bull ready to charge, with a good hand.

I preened once I pegged down the tells. I wilted once I saw what my distraction had cost me. My nails were green with intricate designs and small embellishments glued to them. Oh, yeah, that was fearsome.

Still, my observational skills were improving and I felt like throwing my head back and laughing like a Saturday morning cartoon villain.

I snorted quietly as I recalled just _who_ it was that taught me about observation and analyzing.

Ugh! I wish I could just turn my mind off but it persisted in tormenting me with various ideas and clues until the wee hours of the morning—when Hisako's alarm went off, signaling that we needed to get up for a Danger Room exercise.

Oh, I just _knew_ I was going to be a bucket of sunshine and roses for the entire day.

Blistering, burning sunshine in the middle of a thick rose garden with rose bushes that had numerous long, sharp thorns.

I was just grumpy, stressed, and completely worn-out.

Eegads, I really _was_ mutating into some off-brand Wolverine!

* * *

After two nights of sleeping like the dead, I wasn't as grumpy or worn out, just overly anxious as I sat opposite of Dad in his office with Dr. Hank to the left of me. It was a meeting Dr. Hank called to discuss the findings of my torture time in the name of science.

We each had a copy of the three page report to hold on to, and I did so with half-interest. It was written plainly, stating what I _had_ been able to do and what I could do _now_.

Most of it was what I already _knew_. I mean, _hello,_ I live in the body, if something isn't right, I am the first one my body calls to notify of a change.

While Dr. Hank talked, Dad scribbled several different things on his copy of the report, asked a few questions, and nodded other times.

I did my best not to completely zone out. I was going to have this paper (and a medical dictionary if need be) so I didn't need a word for word explanation. I had gotten better at _observing_, not listening to dry medical gibberish.

"…double set of ears, but all four will prove to be deaf…"

There were things that I had to discuss with Dad, no, with Cyclops about the man he was holding down in the Brig. It wasn't that I wanted to get to know the so called priest (my _fists_ did, but I digress), it was the fact I was kept in the dark about it.

They only found the guy because of Justin—the guy who had been in _my _head.

I huffed and crossed my legs, irritated with my thoughts.

"…then after the scales appear, her tail will most likely fork…"

Propping myself up by tucking a fist under my chin, I sighed heavily. I was itching for answers, just not the ones I currently was supposed to be paying attention to. I glanced at the digital clock embedded in the wall and suppressed a whine when I realized I'd been in there for almost twenty minutes.

Then I noticed something even worse—complete and utter silence.

_Oh, crap_, I thought as I slowly turned my face from the clock to the two men who were staring back at me with patient yet annoyed expressions on their faces.

"You need to pay attention, Kookie," Dr. Hank admonished. "It is _important_ for you to understand all the things that your body has been going through."

I gave a sheepish smile, nodded, and pulled my report closer to my face to scan over the words. Thankfully, that seemed to appease Dr. Hank as he started, again, to elaborate on their findings.

As I suspected, it wasn't much of anything that I didn't already know. Wolverine and X confirmed that I had no scent. Instead of being a hole in the, uh, atmosphere of smell, I absorbed and 'reflected' the scents around me.

"So, if I'm in the middle of the sewer, I'm gonna smell like—"

Dr. Hank cleared his throat and quickly answered, "Ah, yes."

I rolled my eyes and slumped down in my chair.

The X-Club confirmed that yes, night vision was now in my arsenal, and no, I wasn't going to grow gills if left under water. Dr. Hank explained it had been Dr. Nemesis who wanted to try out _that_ particular theory.

"Now, if you will turn to the next page, I'm sure you'll see—oh my." Dr. Hank's eyebrows rose, and after I flipped to the second page and read the first few lines, my face turned blood red.

"…_the subject seems to have a slightly higher tolerance to extreme temperatures. I can only speculate this has something to do with the amount of saliva Iceman and the subject seem to swap on a daily basis."  
…_

Beast had to physically restrain me from going to find the Emma-in-male-form and tearing him from nose to navel. How could he_ write_ something like that! In a formal report!

I was sputtering out threats and using language that would have had Wolverine standing up and applauding. A few minutes of trying to soothe my madness and it only took a stern warning from Scott about an impending punishment should any needles find their way into Dr. Nemesis' eyes or scalpels into his bed.

Knowing the true horrors that Scott Summers was able to inflict upon me, I bit my lower lip, crossed my arms, and dropped down in the chair with more force than necessary. Fine, I wouldn't do anything to him _physically_, just let me do his laundry. Permanent markers, food coloring, and various other household items did _wonders_ on white clothing.

I couldn't keep a creepy sounding cackle from sneaking out of my smirking mouth.

Scott cleared his throat. "Moving on."

Even though I was stewing, I was paying attention.

The X-Club had derived several theories about my spiced up blood. Thankfully, there were no traces of any type of microscopic machines (nanites I think Beast called them?) running rampant in my veins. However, my blood had changed drastically since the time my powers manifested.

It took a lot _less_ stimulation to get my adrenaline to kick into high gear, and the blue genius guessed it had something to do with my emotions being hair-trigger or vice-versa. They were my fire and brimstone working together that made me a little hell-raiser in my own right.

"I think that covers everything thus far." Dr. Hank turned to me and smiled warmly. "Do you have any questions, Kookie?"

Somewhere between plotting the demise of his colleague and how to keep Scott (the cops, the National Guard, etc) from finding out it was me, I snorted at the question.

"Not about anything _you_ found," I replied tersely as my eyes landed on Scott and narrowed a hair.

Scott's impassive expression changed into one of curious amusement. He set the papers on the desk, crossed his arms, and leaned back in his chair, our eyes still locked (I guess).

"Do you have something to say, Ker?"

I flinched at the informality of his address. Sure, I didn't have a new codename he could use, and calling me Summers would have been a bit—well, weird only because you can't berate someone when you sound like you're talking in third person (Mr. Remy anyone?).

I could almost _feel _the thunder of trouble and doom roll into the room as I thought about how to word the imperative next sentence. Whatever I said would spring a trap that would either snare Scott's or my hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

Scowling, I straightened my spine, and pulled my lips into a straight, no-nonsense line of determination.

"Yes," I started, keeping my voice level. "I want to know how Hammond Golling is doing."

Scott took a few seconds to put the name to a face, then from face to a _place_, and when he did, the ends of his mouth turned down ever so slightly.

"Hank, would you excuse us? There are apparently some things Kerry and I have to speak about in private."

From my peripheral vision, I could see him volley his attention from Dad to me and back again. The tension was as thick as mud, and I guess instead of breaking out the boots and wading through it, Dr. Hank agreed and left.

I swear I could almost hear the cheap eighties sound effect of the audience doing an 'ooooh' as the door clicked shut. It was proof I'd been watching too much late night TV.

It's _super_ hard to hold a staring contest when you can't see the other guy's eyes. I knew he hadn't closed them because there were still the two ominous red glows from behind the lenses. Even though I felt totally justified in my ire, I was starting to sweat like a guilt-filled girl in the middle of a church revival.

Internally growling at myself in realizing that even _if_ this was some type of unspoken battle between us for the upper hand, I didn't want to spend the rest of the day rooted in the chair without taking the chance to vent and get answers. In other words, I had to be the first to talk.

"Why didn't you tell me that you brought one of _them_ back?" I hissed, gripping the arms of the chair tightly.

Oh, you could _tell_ Scott had been around women. He didn't do like Chris or Julian and pop off the first thing that came to his mind. Nope, this guy knew he had to tread lightly or face the female dog side that lies within every girl. One slip and _bam,_ she'll go for the throat…or the crotch, depending on the relationship.

"What would you have done with the information?" he shot back. Well, more like lazily threw back since he took his sweet time responding at all.

In all honesty, I hadn't thought about what I would have done with the knowledge _before_, I just knew I was upset about getting it late. Just like him, I restrained myself from shooting off the first thing that came to my mind.

Tilting my head to the side a fraction, I turned the question around.

"What did you _think_ I would have done?" I did my best to keep the 'duh' tone out of my voice.

Scott's eyebrows twitched above his glasses for a second. When he didn't answer right away (not like I was expecting him to), I pushed the matter further.

"What were you _afraid_ of happening?"

"Nothing that _I_ wouldn't be able to handle," he replied simply and smoothly. "_Your_ ability to deal with things is what I question."

_Ouch_.

My upper lip twitched in an attempt to curl back to snarl at him, but I had to remind myself to stay calm.

"You'll never know if you insist on keeping me in the dark about things," I indicated, my voice lower in pitch than before. "You _know _I want to know about what is going on, especially with _them_."

"Perhaps, but until there is _proof_ you won't regress into an earlier version of your traumatized mentality, I will not put you in jeopardy."

Okay, _nothing_ stopped the low growl from rumbling in my chest.

"How would you _know_," I countered again. "It's a little late to try and protect me from all they could do, isn't it?" Yes, that was meant to inflict some sort of blow to his self-righteous, hero ego.

I hit a nerve when he tensed.

He leaned forward, arms crossed and resting on the top of his desk as his eyes never left my face.

"As I said, you haven't given me any indication you are handling things the way they are, and I _won't_ add _more_ stress to your state." Scott was in full leader mode now. "I made a decision and won't repeal it. I can't use you in the field _yet_ because of what you've been through. I can't _trust_ that you won't relapse on the field and put others in danger. I didn't tell you because, until you are fully active as an X-Man, you are just a trainee who has no reason to have access to sensitive information."

"I _am_ handling it," I insisted through clenched teeth. It took a lot of concentration _not_ to morph into my black skin. I felt threatened and my adrenaline was pumping wildly through my veins like an out of control eighteen-wheeler on an icy highway.

"Oh, are you?" Scott asked as he stood up, put his hands flat on his desk, leaned over slightly, and stared at me. "Is handling it screaming yourself and your roommates awake in the middle of the night because of nightmares? What about sleeping under an end table in one of the TV rooms? Not talking about anything, refusing to answer questions about what happened, and suppressing everything so much that I'm starting to wonder if we _do_ share an ancestry."

He took a deep breath, stood straight, and crossed his arms across his chest.

"_No one_ can handle what you've been through _alone_, but you keep pushing everyone away. We can't help you if you won't _let_ us. We are _trying,_ but you aren't giving us a lot to work with, Kookie."

Rage flared up like a Fourth of July firework display within me as I stared at him. I was so blinded by my anger I didn't even feel my claws break the skin of my palms. Blood started to drip from my clenched fists, but that was the only thing about me that was moving.

Scott didn't move, just kept staring at me intently. His nostrils flared for a heartbeat, and my rage doubled. That was his 'tell' that he _knew_ he was winning.

My mind was blank with my emotion as several ideas shot through my thoughts.

_Hurt him_, the chaos screamed in righteous indignation.

_Can't_, came another, calmer (and saner) response, _we respect him_.

_Try_!

_No. We'd only lose anyway._

_He called us weak_,chaos retorted. _Only the __**weak **__need help._

_Maybe we do—_

Whatever the calm part of me was thinking was cut short (or maybe just shot dead) when I made a noise between a growl and a groan in the back of my throat.

The entire internal conflict happened in about point four seconds.

Scott shifted his stance; he gradually lowered his arms to his sides, and he realigned his hips so they were able to position his feet apart.

The change was minor to anyone else, but to those who were being trained to _fight_ it screamed one thing: defense.

He wasn't so sure I wasn't going to lash out bodily at him, and that made my head swirl.

_Then maybe we shouldn't let him __**down**__,_ chaos purred.

_Shut. Up, _I screamed in my head at the annoying little voice of defiance.

This meeting didn't have the intended effect I had wanted. I didn't want to confront Scott _physically_ or have my coping capabilities put into question (again). I wanted to point out that I knew something I shouldn't, give a smug smile, and then declare my right to know stuff dealing with the Redeemers in the future.

Yeah, well, that was a total swing and miss on my part.

If I had been an animal, the fur on the back of my neck would have spiked up as I growled low before turning and marching myself toward the door.

"Walking away doesn't solve anything either, Kerry," Scott asserted gently.

The door was partly opened, my hand still on the knob, and the other gripped the door frame until my knuckles turned white. I felt my jaw lock with tension. I shot him the Glacier Glare of Death over my shoulder. Jerking my head around to face the partially opened exit, I let go of the frame, curled my fingers into a fist, and smashed it into the white wood.

The wood splintered and exploded out from underneath the force of my strike. Stiffening my shoulders, I put my hand back down by my side before I stomped out.


	10. Dealing

**Chapter 10**

* * *

_CLANG_!

I slammed the skillet on one of the stove's burners, dropped a pat of butter into it, and turned the dial to light the fire underneath it. I drummed my fingers angrily as I glared at the butter like it was the cause of everything going weird in my life.

So _what_ if _Scott_ thought I wasn't doing what I needed to do to be able to deal with what happened to me? _So what_!

I had my own ways of handling things. I didn't chase the Redeemers down (yet). I didn't try to blow something up (on purpose). I didn't try to break into the Brig. I didn't do anything classically stupid or anything! What did I do? I cooked for almost three days straight.

While things were frying, baking, broiling, or whatever I was doing to them, I scrubbed down the dishes to keep the work area clean. There had been a _lot_ of confusion when pasta and pizza ended up on the breakfast menu, but no one really complained.

One of the younger guys tried to be _cute_ and make some offhand remark about how a girl's place was in the kitchen. When I turned around, butcher knife securely in my hand and an annoyed, angry glimmer in my eye, he vanished like a mirage.

The butter popped and sizzled in the skillet finally. I reached over to the package of pork chops, ripped off the thin plastic, and dropped them in one by one.

On top of nearly emptying the freezers, cabinets, and pantries, I had a lovely new tick above my eye. The stupid muscle seemed to twitch every time I thought about Scott or his accusations. Growling, I grabbed a knife and a cutting board, slammed them down on the counter, whirled around to fetch the carrots, found them, and stomped back to the cutting board.

How _dare_ he say I wasn't handling things just because I wasn't acting like I was on Oprah or Dr. Phil and spilling my guts about stuff! Come on, who really wants to be _that_ uncomfortable? Even if I did tell someone, I sure as _hell_ didn't want their _pity._

I started to chop (massacre) the carrots, all the while feeling the rhythmic twitch above my eyebrow.

Dr. Hank popped into the kitchenette every now and then to check the cabinets for coffee. After the third fruitless search, he sighed and decided to go for the tea instead. As he left, I let a wicked smile cross my lips.

I wasn't _so_ stupid to know that all four of the X-Club members practically _ran_ on coffee, and though I felt bad for the other three, I knew Nemesis was suffering from the lack of the hot caffeine.

"Do you think we should go grocery shopping?" I made a quick glance behind me and saw it was Mr. Piotr asking Mr. Kurt. They were standing on the other side of the bar (ya know, the _safe_ side) by the pile of freshly made doughnuts and crab cakes.

"I don't know; wouldn't that be enabling an addiction?" Mr. Kurt replied with humor in his voice.

"Who cares," Anole piped up from the couch, "as long as she keeps making stuff."

"Mmphr mmhmm," another person agreed. Thumping down the cutting board and knife, I wiped my hands on the apron I had tied around my waist and jerked toward the refrigerator.

I muttered darkly under my breath about stupid men and their thinking patterns.

"Hey, Drake, whatdya do to tick her off?" Mr. Logan questioned as I heard him pass by the bar counter. He was probably going for another rice ball, beer, or both.

I peeked around the door and saw Bobby standing in one of the doorways, eyes wide and hands up in surrender.

"I didn't do—_wait_, why do you think I'm to blame?"

There was a snort as I fished out the last gallon of milk.

"Any woman this hacked off has to be because of a man. Since _you're _the boyfriend, it makes you suspect number one."

"Oh ha-ha," Bobby replied sarcastically. "I didn't _do_ anything."

"Then what _didn't_ you do?" Mr. Kurt teased.

From the sputtering denial that followed, I could only assume Bobby probably wasn't so sure about his innocence on _that_ question. He _hadn't_ done anything, but the other guys seemed to be having fun poking at him.

The entire conversation stopped cold when I banged the lid down on to its blameless pot. I could almost _feel_ the eyes on me, waiting for an explosion or explanation. I just picked up some of the used dishes, dumped them into the sink, and started to run hot water.

I wasn't going to open my mouth about the _Scott_ thing. The _Scott_ thing would lead to the _other_ thing. The _other_ thing was _mine_ to deal with and no one else's.

I snatched the scrubby and put extra force into scouring a skillet.

"I—have to go—work on the chapel, ja!"

_Bamf!_

"I think—I need to go see—David," Anole declared and scampered off. The others didn't try to make any lame excuses, only backed out of the room slowly as to not to draw the attention of the ravenous harpy (or me in this case).

Bobby jumped backward onto the counter to sit, grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl, and rubbed it against his shirt idly.

"So, what's going on? Training to be the next Rachel Ray?"

I glanced over at him with an eyebrow raised.

He poked the pile of fried chicken with a finger and smirked as he said, "Or are you trying to cause everyone to have coronaries?"

I turned, a wet, soapy knife in my hand, eyed him coldly, and with the most level voice I could make said, "Now that you are aware of my plans, I'm going to have to kill you."

I stiffly stepped toward him.

"I'm sure you will make a decent pot roast, but I'll have to butcher you before I know for certain."

He rolled his eyes, studied the apple again, and dismissed my 'threat' with his free hand.

"Please, I might have been scared, but I know you enough to know that you wouldn't butcher me."

"Oh?"

"Yup, because," he tilted his head to the side to look at me, a smirk on his lips and his eyes and voice full of challenge, "in order to butcher me, you'd have to strip me and look at me _naked_. Something you can't do." He winked as he added, "Yet."

I felt my face heat up as a very, _ahem_, interesting image was created in my brain. Twisting back to the sink, I muttered, "Fine, I'll just throw you on the grill or roast you on a spit."

He scoffed.

"Did you just come here to tease me?" I finally asked after a few _long _minutes of silence and the uncomfortable weight of his stare on me as I tried to finish my tasks.

"No, no," he insisted, "I was just going to ask about some things I read."

I gave him a sidelong glance as he looked at his reflection in the apple's now shined red skin.

I flipped the pork chops over, checked on the quiche, and then tipped my head to the side, studying him. He ignored my questioning stare and bit into the apple.

"Oh, yeah?"

Bobby nodded, swallowed, and then lazily glanced over at me. "Yup."

"Okay, what?"

"Well, you see, this interesting phenomenon happened." He reached into a pocket of his coat and pulled out his phone.

I felt the blood drain from my face.

"When I was answering some of my text messages, I came across some _I_ certainly didn't send." When he glanced up at me, pale and ready to dissolve into a pile of ash, there was a glitter of playfulness in his eyes that kept me rooted to the spot. "And _amazingly_ it is the same day I found you on my bathroom floor. Isn't that interesting?"

Sucking in a breath, my mind dove into the oven with the quiche to disavow any and all knowledge of what I had done. Swallowing, I gave a half-shrug.

"Weird," I replied and felt that muscle above my eye spasm at the high pitch in my voice.

"Listen to this one;_ This is K, need help, stuck in closet and can't get out_, then _Chris_, that's who all these texts are to is Chris, replies, _I never thought you were _in_ the closet, I can help change that._" He turned his head to me, and I could tell he was desperately trying to keep a smile from curling the ends of his mouth.

"Interesting," I remarked with anxiety clearly heard in my voice. I eyed the pork chops and then the knife on the cutting board a few inches away from the stove. Briefly, I wondered if I chopped out my tongue and put it in the skillet if it would save me from this embarrassing conversation.

"_Then_ he the mysterious texter says to call _me_, as in me, Bobby, not me, the mysterious text writer, and get _me_ out of the room so that they can leave." Bobby blinked at me innocently, as if waiting for me to crumple and confess I was the closet cell phone user.

That probably would have been the easiest, wisest thing to do and yet I was not known for being _wise_ or _easy_.

…

Wait, that's not what I meant! I mean I _wasn't_ easy, but when it came to doing things the easy _way_, I usually bypassed that road to make it harder than it had to be.

"Ghosts, it must be ghosts," I said confidently, clearing my throat from the amount of junk that built up in it from the blatant _lying_ I was doing. Okay, so it wasn't _lying—_ more like side-stepping. Pivoting on my heel so my back faced him, my face contorted into a perfect expression of, 'oh snap, I'm caught'.

"Mm," he replied.

Mentally going over what I needed to finish in the kitchen, I winced. Due to the things I had picked out to make and their cooking or prepping time, I was chained to the kitchenette for the next twenty minutes at _least_.

"A ghost, huh? Well, that would explain why I just had my head chewed on by Scott because of my account being accessed while I was doing a session in the Danger Room."

Did the floor just drop out from under me? No? Well, darn!

Given the short list of options I could think of, I had the chance to either a, come clean or b, _run_.

With one quick glance over my shoulder, the cocked eyebrow and smirk on Bobby's face made the decision for me. I decided that the food could _burn._

I did my best to sprint to the nearest exit, but super speed isn't something I have and he must have been prepared for a rash escape attempt. He easily caught me; his arms wrapped around my waist and pressed me as close as possible to his chest. I squeaked and desperately wanted to claw at him, but shredding Bobby's arms wasn't going to get me out of trouble.

"Now don't get me wrong," Bobby teased in a deep voice, close to my ear. "I don't mind you coming into my room, in fact, I would encourage it. _However_, to breech protocol under my name is somewhat annoying; especially when Scott finds out and goes into a stiff lecture about how I am too lax with security and whatever else he was spouting."

Seems I'm not the only one who tunes Scott out.

"And the fact that you had to ask _Chris_ to save you from my oh-so-evil lair—," he trailed off and muttered something under his breath I couldn't quite understand.

"I'm _sorry, _okay?" I squirmed, trying my best to wiggle my way to freedom.

"Oh? Why would you be sorry for something a poltergeist did?" he teased and I growled/groaned. He was going to be bratty about this.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I decided the best way to get free was to annoy him by silence. Bobby often needed someone else's words to feed his own jokes and kidding nature. If I wasn't talking, he'd get bored or frustrated and let me go.

Somehow, that _wasn't_ what happened.

He never gave an inch on his hold as he maneuvered us so that he was leaning against the counter across from the stove.

The pork chops were sizzling happily. I glowered at them. The snaps and crackles of them frying in the fat sounded like snickers and chuckles to me. Weird, yes, thank you. I left the oven light on so I wouldn't have to constantly disturb the temperature the quiche were baking in and from the looks of it, they weren't ready.

"So," Bobby started, hugging me closer to him, "do you want to tell me exactly why you were in my closet, on my computer, and needing _him_ to rescue you?"

I huffed, jerking my head to the side as if the action would make him disappear. It didn't.

"I can stand here _all_ afternoon," Bobby explained in a bored manner. "Can you keep still that long?"

I paled. I knew I couldn't. The food would burn, my mind would go down some twisted thought paths, and eventually I was going to feel the full bladder drinking several cans of pop would bring.

"Bob_eeee_," I whined, wriggling around, "this isn't fair."

"Would you like me to text Chris and ask him to spring you from my evil clutches?" Even if he _was_ teasing, there was an obvious edge to his words.

I turned over the situation in my head and sifted through the emotions of panic and humiliation of the previous closet escapade and realized that there was just _one_ thing with which Bobby was having a true issue.

"You're mad about me contacting Chris?" I questioned hesitantly. He snorted in reply. "You _are_, aren't you?"

I have to say that I was nearly light-headed with giddy reprieve over my sneakier crimes.

"I didn't say that," he grumbled.

Oh, but he _did_, just not in so many words.

Feeling rather catty, I craned my neck to stare at him the best I could before, with a smirk, I poked at his ego a bit more.

"Are you actually _jealous_?"

I was surprised (and giggling like a school girl on the inside) when I heard Bobby's imitation of a growl. After hearing Wolverine's deep, deadly sounding growls, Bobby's came off more like a purr of a newborn kitten.

"Why would I ever be jealous that my _girlfriend_ is relying on another guy to…"

He could have started singing Christmas carols at that moment and I wouldn't have known. My inner pre-teen started a pillow fight with my heart and both were all grins and giggles as his words rolled around my head like some hypnotic theme song.

_Girlfriend! _ He actually said that _I_ was his _girlfriend_.

I twisted around, bounced on to my toes, and kissed him so fast that I caught him in mid-syllable, and for _once_ it was _him_ who was too stunned to respond.

The pork chops only burned a little, but the subject of Chris was completely forgotten—for that day at least.

* * *

I had just left the shower, dressed in my uniform (don't ask me why I felt the need to shower _before_ I was to get all sweaty, I just _did_) and was roughing my hair up with the towel in an attempt to dry it.

Throwing the towel into the hamper, I was on auto-pilot as I made my way to the Danger Room. No one was around, which was strange, but then I just shrugged it off. Either they were invading the local city, on a mission, or someone screwed with my alarm clock and I was running _really_ late.

I frowned at that thought. Sure, I pulled my fair share of petty pranks (it kept one sane and healthy because you had to sometimes break into a full run when you were discovered as the prankster), but resetting the clocks? Not very original.

It wasn't until I was standing outside the Danger Room, ready to punch in my security clearance code that I took myself _off_ of auto-pilot. There was a note tapped over the control pad which read: Do what you have to.

My eyebrows soared up my forehead as I scrutinized the note and then the door. What the heck was I walking into? An image of chickens and clowns dancing around the Danger Room lit up in my mind. I rolled my eyes at my own stupidity and punched in my security code.

The doors hissed opened, allowing me to step through, and then slid shut. My eyes took a second to react to the dim light, and just to be safe, I went black. It was dark like a football field being lit by a single candle on a moonless night.

I walked in a bit further, anticipation having my senses stretched out as far as they possibly could and my muscles tense and ready to fight. Glancing up at the control nest, I found it empty.

_Ooookay_, I thought to myself, studying the room over again, _this is just weird_.

I about jumped up the wall when the décor of the room changed drastically. It went from a big, metal room with next to no lighting to a very familiar metal hallway, spotted with several doors, and lit with flickering halogen lights.

"What is _this_?" I hissed out. Was this all some kind of sick joke? Whoever was controlling the room set it to the halls of the Redeemers' base in which I had been held.

Growling softly, I flexed my fingers and forced myself to go further down the hall. I was already planning some rather nasty little get-you-backs in my mind when a strange sound caught my attention. Heading toward the noise, I froze as I stood just outside the doorway.

It was the holding chamber.

My heart hammered in my chest, panic shot like lightening through my veins, as my breaths went to quick and shallow. Even as my throat constricted, my eyes grew to take in the sight before me.

The cages were all there but empty, except one.

In _my_ cage, the one I spent the better part of a _year_ losing my humanity in was a Redeemer. He was sitting calmly in the middle of the cage floor with his legs folded under him, dressed in the 'holy' robes of their sect, and his hands folded in prayer.

I wanted to turn and run.

_I wanted to rip the cage door open. _

I didn't want anything to do with him.

_I wanted to drag out, rake my nails across his face, and gut him with my teeth._

Shaking my head, trying to knock the megaphone from the nasty's voice hand in my mind, I found the strength to blink.

The man—the _redeemer_, to so-called _priest_, hadn't seen me. Swallowing thickly I had to realign and center or I was going to pass out from the shallow breaths I was currently panting. I did _not_ want to be _weak_ or vulnerable in the same _country_ as this—this _thing_ in the cage.

I could either continue to freak out or I could—

_"Do what you have to." _

Is this what the note meant? Was this a _test_? If it _was_, then what did they want me to do? Take this guy's hands in mine, look deep into his beady eyes, and tell him I forgive him?

Yeah, no, that wasn't going to happen until senility set in.

"Saint!"

His voice and _that_ endearment set my teeth on edge. My eyes tapered into thin slits and I felt like I was pushed into the back seat of my body.

No, not like a telepath, I knew it wasn't. It was blind, untamed rage.

What was happening flashed through my head like someone set a strobe light in the room. Pictures of my hands, his face, and blood flittered through my mind.

He was on the floor, pinned there by my having straddled him. My fist was pulled back, left hand curled tightly into his robes, keeping him in place and holding him partially off the floor—it was then that I came back to the present.

I blinked, confused, and then growled. My throat was sore and my ears were ringing from something I couldn't quite remember. Assessing that he wasn't going to go Chuck Norris all of a sudden on me, I darted my eyes around the area. The hologram of the Redeemers base was gone, leaving the bare walls of the Danger Room in its place. Smatterings and small puddles of blood were—_everywhere, _on wall nearest to us, all over the floor, and even me.

My stomach turned violently when I saw where he had attempted to find purchase in the floor to pull against me if small bloody trails and large streak meant anything.

When I focused on the bruised, bleeding and swelling face of the man under me, I knew it wasn't _my_ blood that coated this place. My memories of only a few moments ago rampaged through my mind like a bull elephant.

I felt lightheaded and I wasn't even sure the guy was still alive until he moaned.

Hate swelled in me again, but I refused to let it override my senses this time. As he weakly turned his head and opened his eyes to me, I realized what had stopped me.

With a quick hit landed to the side of his head, his body went lax a breath before I released my grip. He dropped to the floor, heaving in breaths but alive.

My muscles were still humming with power and my heart was thundering with raw emotion.

* * *

I was furiously throwing my fists into the barks of different trees. Going through moves Wolverine taught me and trying to take out my rage on the helpless wood. My teeth were locked together as I felt every fiber of my body hum with adrenaline. My mind kept spitting and snarling about what happened earlier.

I didn't understand and that just hacked me off. Well, hacked me off _more_.

In the Danger Room I noticed that I couldn't shake the pain, fear, and anger.

The hurt, I hurt him, and yet I still felt it. It was still in me, burning and burrowing deeper into my core. I thought if I ever got my hands on one of them, tore into them, and let them experience hell at _my_ hands like I had at _theirs_, things would equal out. It didn't.

Even though I was scared into a fight-or-flight mindset that ended with me flying toward the guy and fighting him (though he didn't even try to), he wasn't afraid of me. Even when I watched as one of their trapped mutants tore one of their 'priests' apart. They praised their perverted version of a god and served the bits of flesh as a sacrificial meal and lapped up the blood. No, they would never know fear like I had.

And the anger? Ha! They had no reason to be angry. They were doing what they _wanted_ to and _understood_ why they were doing it.

A deep-chested growl vibrated the air as I pivoted and slammed my foot into the tree, splintering it clear through. It cracked and without much ceremony, crashed into its forest friends before crashing into the ground.

The guy, even though it was a hologram, didn't feel anything like they made me feel. He didn't know what nightmares his crazy cult caused me and others.

I couldn't make him _pay_ for what he did. I just made him bleed as the fury in me roared up like a tsunami. Scowling, I slammed my fist into the tree, watching as the grey-brown bark flew in every direction and the softer pale yellow layer cracked and groaned under my strength.

"So you just gonna let them keep beatin' you?" He questioned in an almost _disgusted_ voice.

Spinning around on my heel, fists at my side, and my eyes flaring with rage, I hissed, "I'm not letting them do _anything_!"

"What's happened, happened. Nothin' you can do to change that." He was up in my face as he lectured me in gruff, stern voice. "You've been tryin' to pretend it didn't happen or some crap like that. I've seen you get pissed off and then ignore that, too. It is _not_ going to go away."

My eyebrow ticked, I had been going into anger overdrive for a few days. It was amazing that I still had enough common sense to know attacking those who were exasperating me even _more_ were not the ones to attack. I wanted to release frustration, not end up in a body cast.

"_How_?" I snapped. "Say whatever you _want_, but can you tell me _how_?"

"Learn to _deal _withit."

I jerked my face away, staring off to the side. "Yeah, I'm sure they have some self-help book for people like me, '_How to cope after being on a Cannibal's Menu'_."

Mr. Logan muttered something about me being a 'stubborn female' and a Summers before he lapsed into silence.

My temper was still burning brightly, but having someone next to me who wouldn't take my crap and had the skills to shove any junk back down my throat helped it ebb quite a bit.

"You weren't born with your powers goin' full force, it just happened one day. It ain't something that is goin' to go away if you ignore it. You might be able to hide it, but it'll always be there. You had to learn to accept that it was _part_ of you. Once you did that, you adjusted to life _with_ your powers. This isn't any different. Accept it happened, it's a part of _you_ learned to control that part of you. This is no different, kid."

* * *

It had been a few days since my 'meeting' with Wolverine. His words kept playing around in my mind, blending in with what Dad had said in his office.

_Deal with it. _

_You won't talk about it_…

There was _no_ way I was going to let my skeletons come dancing out for just anyone. Dad had enough on his plate (and I was still upset with him). Emma—yeah, okay, _next_. All those who were new to me were out of the question because I just didn't _know_ them and they didn't know the old me. That left a handful; even though I shared a house with a lot of the senior members back in Westchester, it didn't mean we were close.

The clear and logical answer was Bobby.

I had been fighting with myself ever since my mind came up with his name. Every time I would open my mouth to say something to him, something beyond the _now_ and the _casual_, I felt tears sting my eyes. Maybe it was stupid, but that's why I was in his room.

He was taking a shower and unaware of my invasion.

_Yes_, he had finally labeled us as a couple by calling me his girlfriend, and I didn't want to lose it. The only thing I could be certain of was that he didn't push me away after I told him I wanted him in my life. Would he want someone as messed up as me if—_after_ I told him?

Taking a deep breath, I fisted my hands into his sheets.

I was so anxious, I felt like a virgin who was waiting for her first time.

Okay, so I _was_ a virgin, but it was the only thing I could equate my nerves to being like at that moment.

When the shower shut off, I had to restrain myself from bolting out the door. I bit my lip and remained still.

As the door knob turned on the bathroom door, a slightly unnerving thought dive-bombed into my mind: if he thought no one was in his room—what if he came out—_naked?_

My face grew unbelievably hot as I jerked my head to _other_ side of the room and clenched my eyes shut.

"Kerry?" Bobby didn't sound mad, only surprised.

My imagination was _very_ colorful as I remembered he often wore the male equivalent to Emma's outfits as his uniform. He was, after all, highly attractive to me. Okay, so he was _hot_, but that didn't mean I wanted a free peep show.

Swallowing, I croaked out, "A-are you _dressed_?"

He chuckled softly and said he was.

Shyly, I turned my eyes toward him. He was indeed dressed—_enough_.

My mouth suddenly became very dry as I took in the sight of him in nothing but dark jeans and a towel. The muscles in his arms flexed under the innocent gesture of running the towel over his hair, and an easy smile made my mind want to forgo the entire conversation I had been planning.

I watched, transfixed, as a droplet of water slowly, teasingly, made its way from the side of his face, tracing the curve of his jaw, and skimmed silently to the hollow of his neck where I thought it was going to stay. It did for a heartbeat, until it decided to venture over his muscled chest, languidly exploring his defined stomach before disappearing in his unbuttoned, partly unzipped jeans.

The jeans were high enough to cover everything that could make me blush, but low enough to know that, well, jeans were _all_ he had on.

Before I could stop it, my tongue darted out of my mouth and licked my suddenly dry lips.

That little action made his eyebrow raise in question, amusement clearly shinning in his eyes.

If I hadn't been sitting, I probably would have been too weak-kneed to stay standing when I was done checking him out.

He put the towel around his neck and slightly tilted his head back before giving me a rather smug smile.

_Busted_, was what Bobby's body language was screaming at me.

He _knew_ I had been giving him a very appreciative once over like a salivating fan-girl. I opened my mouth but snapped it shut as I found my bare feet suddenly _the_ most interesting thing in the room.

Honestly, where did a man who could turn himself into _ice_ get the nerve to look so _hot_?

It took a few seconds and another soft laugh before he walked over to the bed and sat next to me. Briefly I wondered why I hadn't worn my normal sweatshirt and jeans. No, I had to wear my baggy work out shorts and a simple t-shirt.

The bad, wicked problem was that I wasn't sure if I wanted to be _more_ clothed or _less_.

My cheeks flared with heat again as that idea brushed my imagination.

"What's up?"

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes, and then faced him. When I opened them, our eyes met and in the next breath, I burst into tears.

It was a long, _long_ night.


End file.
